Summary - A kidnapping, a ritual sacrifice, and a desperate hunt…just another typical holiday season for the Winchester family.
This is a SFTCOL(AR)S Secret Santa fic for Annonie.
A huge thank you to Faye Dartmouth for her beta on this one.
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Winter Solstice – Part 2
It was well after midnight when John and Dean returned to the apartment. John cursed as he stumbled in the front door. He'd left the lights on for a reason and Sam had apparently thought it would be cute to turn them off. He loved his youngest with all his heart but if Sam were standing in front of him right now he'd gladly wring his neck.
Dean flicked on the living room light and saw the thundercloud overtaking his dad's face. Here it was more than fives hours after his father's little altercation with his youngest son and he was still out of sorts over the situation.
Trying to head off his father's irritation Dean quickly climbed upstairs calling out, "Sammy, we're back." He didn't hear Sam's answering reply and started to become concerned.
"Sam?" Dean pushed into the bedroom he shared with his brother and right away realized that Sam wasn't there.
"Sammy? Quit screwing around! Where the hell are you?" Dean ran into the bathroom and then his father's bedroom but Sam was no where to be found. As he rushed back into the hallway he was joined by his father. Dean was frantic with worry. John, however, seemed more angry than anything else.
"I just knew he was going to pull something like this. I should have ignored his temper tantrum and made him come with us tonight." John thrust his hand through his hair in agitation, adding, "He's never going to make 18 at this rate—I'm going to kill him first."
"Dad, what are you talking about? He'd never worry us like this. I think something's wrong." Dean was the first to admit that Sam could be selfish and self absorbed but he was at that age. Sam would never make his older brother worry needlessly over him. He just knew something else was going on here.
"Sam is probably safe and sound at his new friend Ginger's house. I'm going to get that phone number off of the caller ID and call over there right now. Sam is going to be sorry that he pulled this little stunt." John couldn't believe his formerly responsible youngest son would try something so asinine. If he was going to sneak out of the house he should have damned well made sure he returned before John did. John wasn't sure what punishment would fit this crime but he vowed Sam would learn a lesson from it.
John stormed back downstairs and headed for the phone in the kitchen. Dean followed but veered off next to the front door where the coat closet was located. Whipping it open he saw Sam's coat, boots, gloves and hat all resting comfortable where Sam had left them on the bottom of the closet floor.
"Dad, wait. Come look at this." Dean suddenly felt shaky. Sam wouldn't leave the apartment in the dead of winter without his winter gear.
John, picking up on the seriousness of Dean's tone, put down the phone and joined Dean by the coat closet.
Dean gestured toward the floor, "See, I told you something was wrong. What are we going to do?" John was confused by Dean's insistence that something was amiss. All's he saw was Sam's jacket and winter stuff on the ground instead of being properly hung up. Messy but not worth Dean's concern. And then it hit him.
"Why would Sam leave the house without his coat?" John was having trouble connecting the dots. He wanted to believe that Sam had disobeyed orders rather than the alternative.
Dean wanted to smack his father in the forehead. Why was he being so dense? Someone or something had taken his brother; he just knew it. There was no other plausible explanation.
Dean saw understanding dawn over John followed swiftly by fear. John tried to pull himself together but inside he felt like a runaway train rushing heedlessly forward. Breathe. Focus. They needed to find Sammy.
"You take the upstairs and I'll start down here. We need to search every square inch of this place. There's got to be some sort of clue." As far as plans went it was pretty mediocre but John didn't even know where to look for his son at the moment. He was scared out of his mind.
Dean should have felt relieved that his father finally understood the seriousness of the situation. Instead he felt cold dread. He thought John Winchester would know what to do but his dad looked as lost and petrified on the outside as Dean felt on the inside.
Dean headed back upstairs and stopped in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with his brother and looked around the room. At first glance he noticed the cover was missing off of his bed. He also saw that the wastebasket next to the rickety desk had been knocked over. With each passing second he became more anxious.
Dean continued on into the room and stopped in the middle, slowing whirling around looking first at the ceiling, then the floor and finally the walls. He darted over the closet and nothing seemed to be missing. Next he pulled open dresser drawers noting that all of Sam's clothes and his favorite bowie knife were all accounted for.
Dean looked up as he heard his dad approaching. "Any luck?" John asked, hope clear in his voice.
Dean jerkily shook his head no. "The extra blanket off my bed is missing and that's it." Tears were just under the surface and Dean tried to swallow them down.
Needing an outlet for his emotions Dean walked over to Sam's bed, punching the mattress, before sliding to the floor. "What are we going to do? It's 20 degrees out there and he's in just his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He's not even wearing shoes Dad!"
John took in the defeated posture as Dean laid his head against his knees. "Dean, this is no time to lose it. I need you to pull yourself together."
Dean's head snapped up and he glared at his dad. "Don't you even care?" Dean whispered. For once he wanted his dad to act like a real dad. He wanted comfort. And he wanted his little brother back. Right now.
Upset that John didn't respond to his query, Dean pushed himself up off of the floor only to return back to it with a thump. His hand had slipped on something. He reached under the bed and pulled out a book. The Arcane. He'd never heard of it and was pretty sure that it wasn't Sam's. His brother's collection was wide ranging and eclectic but he didn't own anything this old.
Standing up Dean offered the book to his dad, "I've never seen this before."
John silently took the book, sinking down on Dean's bed. He started thumbing through the fragile pages. Pausing only long enough to read the heading of each chapter, his heart leapt into his throat as his eyes spotted the section on Herne the Hunter marked with a thin strip of leather.
Phrases jumped off of the page and he found himself reading aloud from the excerpt on the ritual to summon the Hunter God…a sacrifice must be made at midnight on the winter solstice outside of hallowed ground. It is to be a live boy child, son of a hunter, pure of body and soul…John's stomach dropped down to his toes as the implications of this passage wormed their way into this brain.
"You don't think…" Dean's voice trailed off and he audibly swallowed. "I mean, Sam wouldn't be…" Dean couldn't give voice to the thought it was so heinous. Someone had taken his baby brother and planned to use him as a sacrifice. First he would find Sammy and then he would kill the bastard who dared touch his brother.
"Come on son. We've got a lot of research ahead of us and I need to call in some markers. If this is what I think it is then we don't have much time to find Sammy. The Winter Solstice is tomorrow night."
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JT pulled the car up to the ramshackle maintenance shed set on the outskirts of St. Peter's Cemetery. Located on the south side of town it was a mere twenty minutes from the Winchesters' apartment. It also abutted a forest reserve and for all intents and purposes was abandoned. The ritual needed to be performed outside of hallowed ground and what better place to conduct a ritual intended for a forest god then in a forest? He tried to tamp down on the giddiness bubbling within him. In less than twenty four hours he would be able to summon Herne the Hunter with his offering.
The obvious disrepair of the cemetery coupled with the cold weather gave JT confidence that no one would be bothering them while they waited for the Winter Solstice. He decided it was time to settle in and make himself comfortable while they waited for the appointed time.
JT pulled the blanket wrapped body out of the backseat and balanced Sam on his shoulder. JT tugged the collar of his jacket up higher on his neck with his free hand. He'd forgotten how frigid a Midwestern winter could be. As he pushed open the shed door he had a moment of doubt. The shed didn't have a heat source and he needed to keep Sam alive until the ritual. He shrugged off the concern. He'd just have to heap blankets on the boy.
Turning on the lone light switch JT made his way over to the cot he'd set up earlier that day, gently lowering his burden onto it. He peeled the blanket back from Sam's face and was shocked at the pallor he found there. Pulling off a glove he reached forward to touch the carotid artery and was relieved to find a pulse. JT touched Sam's cheek and noticed it was extremely cold to the touch. Sam's lips had also turned a disturbing shade of blue.
JT hustled back to the car and popped the trunk open. He reached in and grabbed an old insulated sleeping bag he kept in case of emergencies. This definitely qualified as an emergency. He couldn't allow his sacrificial lamb to die ahead of schedule.
JT wasted no time in stuffing Sam into the sleeping bag. Maneuvering the unconscious boy had proven to be difficult and JT wiped sweat off of his forehead. Sam could have benefited from some of his warmth but he didn't want to get that close. He needed to remain objective otherwise he feared he would back out of his plan.
Spreading the blanket over the sleeping bag JT awkwardly patted the boy's shoulder. JT was too uncomfortable to stick around and Sam shouldn't be surfacing from the drugs for at least another ten hours. JT decided to go back to his motel room and return in the morning to deliver another dose of the sedative. There was no reason the boy had to suffer and JT planned to keep him comfortably numb for the duration.
Turning off the light JT secured the shed door and climbed back into his sedan. So far everything was on schedule.
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John sat back in the kitchen chair and wearily rubbed his eyes. He'd just gotten off of the phone with Caleb who had assured him he would contact all of the hunters in their circle. Someone was bound to know about The Arcane.
John looked over to where Dean slumped across the couch. Sam hadn't even been missing for twelve hours and both of them were exhausted. The only thing keeping them going was worry for the youngest member of their family and strong coffee.
"Any luck with the reference to hallowed ground, son?" John forced himself to ask. He would never give up on Sammy but time was fast running out.
Dean nodded, "There are fifteen cemeteries all within a 30-mile radius of Schaumberg. How are we going to narrow it down?" Resolve colored Dean's voice and in that moment John had never been prouder of his eldest son. Dean wasn't losing hope and John could only draw strength from his faith. Failure wasn't an option.
"We're dealing with a forest god. See if any of the cemeteries have a connection to the forest. It may be as simple as the name." Finding the copy of The Arcane had been a stroke of good luck and now they needed another to bring Sammy back home.
A knock sounded at the apartment door and both John and Dean jumped in their seats.
"I've got it," Dean said rushing for the door. He was dismayed to see the diminutive little old lady from next door hovering in the doorway. "Um, what can we do for you?"
"Well for starters you can invite me in. I'm Mrs. Simpson and I live in the apartment next to yours. I would like to talk to that nice young man, Sam. I know there's no school today and I want him to help me with a project." Mrs. Simpson talked in a brisk staccato manner, not mincing words.
"Hi Mrs. Simpson. I'm John and this is Dean, my other son. I'm afraid Sam isn't here right now." John stepped out of the kitchen eager to talk to someone who at least knew Sam in this town. "Can I ask how you know him? We haven't even been here a week."
Mrs. Simpson smiled as she replied, "He's such a nice young man. Not like those other ruffians. He helped me carry groceries into my apartment the day after you moved in. These old arthritic hips don't like to go up and down the stairs and your young man offered to help me."
On one hand John didn't like the fact that Sam was talking to strangers; they were supposed to keep a low profile. But offering to help an old lady carry groceries into her apartment was pure Sam.
"Are you sure he isn't here? I didn't see him leave." Mrs. Simpson didn't seem to care that she had let slip how closely she paid attention to the comings and goings of her neighbors.
John was taken aback that this old biddy had taken it upon herself to monitor his family. He was on the verge of letting her know she was an interfering busybody when Dean interrupted him.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Simpson, do you remember the last time you saw Sam?" Dean knew it sounded like a strange question but he suspected if anyone had seen something last night it was this tiny, bird-like creature with blue hair standing before them. God, Sam sure can pick them Dean thought to himself.
Mrs. Simpson had a quizzical expression on her face but to her credit she just answered, "Why I saw him yesterday afternoon when your father brought him home. I must say, he didn't look very happy."
John jumped back into the conversation, "Can you tell me if you've seen anyone else leaving the apartment since then?" John knew they were pressing but Mrs. Simpson was a lot sharper then they had initially given her credit for.
"Well I saw you to two leave around 7:15 in your Ford truck. I like your Chevy better; I've always had a weakness for sporty numbers," Mrs. Simpson said, putting a finger to her chin thoughtfully.
Looking up she caught the frustrated look on Dean's face and realizing she had strayed off topic she continued, "And then around 7:45 I saw someone carry what I thought was a carpet out from your apartment. He was tall and thin but it must not have been a very large carpet because he was able to fit it in the back seat of his Crown Vic." Mrs. Simpson had a smug look on her elfin face. You didn't have to be male to appreciate and know automobiles.
"Mrs. Simpson, how long have you lived in this area?" Dean asked.
"I've lived here for sixty years. Mr. Simpson, God rest his soul, settled us here right after he returned from overseas where he fought in The Great War." Mrs. Simpson was still as proud of her husband today as she had been when they first married. She was so lonely without him. But these Winchesters were turning out to be very interesting. They asked a lot of seemingly random questions but at least they didn't ignore her or treat her like a doddering old fool.
"Can you tell me if there's a cemetery in the area that's connected with a wooded area or forest?" Dean hadn't had much luck with the telephone book but maybe Mrs. Simpson would know of something. It didn't hurt to ask.
"Let me think for a moment. Well there's no Shady Lawn around here if that's what you're asking. I can't think of a single one, and there must be at least a dozen in the area, that have woodland or forest in the name. But there's old St. Peter's off of Higgins. It's abandoned but it's right next to the forest preserve. Is that what you meant?"
John shocked Mrs. Simpson by kissing her leathered cheek. "Thank you so much for answering our questions Mrs. Simpson. We'll tell Sam you dropped by." He maneuvered the stunned elderly lady to the door and ushered her out before she could recover her composure. Once she was gone he leaned against the door to collect himself.
Thanks to Mrs. Simpson they now had their first real lead.
John clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as they silently scooped up their jackets. "Let's go see if we can bring your brother home."
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JT returned to the maintenance shack at St. Peter's and was dismayed to find Sam in worse shape then when he had left him. He was no doctor but the wheezing, stuttering breaths Sam was emitting coupled with the dusky blue shade of his face didn't bode well for his plans. At this rate he wouldn't have a live sacrifice.
"NO! This can't be happening!" JT flew into a sudden rage. There was no way he could move forward with his plan. He picked up a piece of plywood and threw it against the far wall of the shack. Next he laid his hands on a hammer and it, too, sailed through the air.
"Deep breath. Get a hold of yourself. You have a whole year to find another sacrificial lamb to complete the ritual. You'll have another shot at it next December. The Winter Solstice happens every year." JT was muttering aloud as he tried to calm down.
Now that he had decided to scrap his plan using Sam he needed to decide what to do with the young man. He could phone in a tip to the police so Sam would be rescued. Or he could just let nature take its course. Although Sam had never done anything to him JT decided that John Winchester should be taken down a peg or two. And losing his youngest would certainly accomplish that.
"But there's no reason for you to suffer." JT pulled another syringe out of his bag and readied it. Quickly pushing aside the sleeping bag he swept the thin t-shirt aside before plunging the needle into Sam's arm. JT made short work of unzipping the sleeping bag and bundled it up. He couldn't afford to leave it here. He couldn't be caught.
Picking Sam up off of the cot JT wrapped the thin blanket around him before laying him on the cold, hard ground. It took two trips to the car to stow the cot and sleeping bag but JT was finally assured that he had removed anything that would trace the events of the last day back to him. Except for Sam who probably wouldn't live out the next hour. JT snapped off the dim light and headed back to his car. It was time to hit the road.
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Sam's eyes squinted open and blearily glanced around the dark shack. "Dean? Dad?" Sam weakly called out before succumbing to a coughing fit. He'd heard someone talking before but now seemed to be alone. He didn't know where he was and his chest hurt. He needed to get help.
Sam tried getting to his feet but the effort was too much for him. Barely making it to an upright position he tripped over the blanket and crashed forward, striking the door. Unable to stop himself he tumbled head first out into the snow.
I'm so tired…I'll just rest for a moment. Sam lay curled on his side, clad in only a t-shirt and sweat pants, resting on a soft pillow of snow. The sedative spread through his system, kicking off a chain reaction as his body fought the foreign substance swirling through his veins. Sam dropped off into unconsciousness unaware that his body was in for the fight of its young life.