Author's Chapter Notes:

Whew, just made it. Sorry I"m a bit late today, but I've got company for the next two weeks and It took longer than I thought to get ready. ;) A big thanks goes to Laura for the quick beta she really went out of her way for this one.

Hope you enjoy - Kel ;)

Chapter 4

Chapter End Notes:

Okay, hopefully you all enjoyed. For those that are curious Julie is quoting a poem by Celia Leighton Thaxter called 'The Sunrise Never Failed Us Yet'.

I am going to do my best to post next Wednesday, however, I'm going to be on vacation for a large part of the week so I don't know for sure I'll be able. Rest assured if its not Wed. I'll get it up just as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading and I'll catch you all soon - Kel ;)

It was the sound of three-hundred-fifty-eight horses rumbling down the roadway that drew him. With a little over an hour left to find the girl before he needed to retreat to his home, he took off toward the sound.

His power, always strongest at night, would make short work of locating Julie. It was only once dawn broke that he'd be forced to rely on good old fashioned hard work. Right now, thanks to his special gift, the poor girl would find herself able to go no farther than the road, the road that he controlled.

Soon his phantom stretch of road would have both a beginning and unfortunately an end. The rising sun would also soon give proof to the lie he was the only soul in this tiny corner of the world. Not that she would find help, of that he'd made sure years ago.

Over the decades, he'd made sure to drive out even the hardiest of souls. So great was the carnage he had wrought that the few survivors who fled spread the word that the mountain was cursed. Generations had come and gone but an instinctual fear remained.

Though his guests were now few and far between, it was fine with Smith. He'd learned long ago keeping a low profile equaled longevity. Those that boasted of their unusual talents were the first to suffer for them.

If he missed Julie before dawn broke, she'd be unable to get far before night fell once more. Until he could get his hands on the young girl, he always had Christine to keep him occupied.

Centuries of practice had rendered him unbeatable. Never, in all his time, both here and in his former homeland had a guest escaped. He was the master and he would not be denied.

As he listened, with his heightened senses, he heard the growling engine come to a split second stop. With a smile of delight at the thought he'd soon have one more to call company, Smith picked up his pace.

888

Dean leaned forward dropping both hands to the hood of his car with a curse that would have made his father blush, as he contemplated the mess he now found himself in.

Early this morning he'd spent nearly an hour after he'd found Julie, looking for some sign of civilization. Another road, a house, hell, he would have settled for a mere street sign.

Instead, the only break in the monotony of trees had been Smith's driveway.

The first time they passed it, he had discounted Julie's sense of direction. Though the blonde had insisted, as she moaned in fear, the driveway should have been well behind them, he passed it with a grimace and kept on.

However, if, as they say, 'third time's a charm', he could no longer pretend they were dealing with a run of the mill crazy guy.

Something was preventing them from leaving, or more specific, Smith was preventing them from leaving.

At that point, as he'd cruised past the cheery light advertising the friggin' driveway once more, he'd very nearly hooked a hard right into the macadam drive. Ready to face the bastard head on in order to avoid looking at the same damn set of trees one more time, Dean was snapped out of his exasperation by Julie's gasp.

"The sun's coming up," she whispered, a faint trace of hope in her tone.

"It always does," Dean replied automatically.

"The blush of dawn may yet restore, our light and hope and joy once more. Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget that sunrise never failed us yet."

Dean glanced toward the blonde in surprise.

With a shrug Julie offered, "It just seems fitting."

The hunter in Dean had him nodding in agreement. Given his chosen line of work, watching dawn break meant you had lived to fight another day.

"Look," Julie whispered as she pointed out the window.

Dean didn't need clarification to understand what she was talking about. There, in the early morning glow he could clearly make out an opening in tree line. Overgrown and apparently unused, the track disappeared around a bend.

Obviously, Smith, who prevented them from leaving up until now, couldn't sustain his mojo in the light of day. Dean drew his first real bit of hope from that thought. If he was quick enough, he might be able to stash Julie in town and return for Christine. As an added bonus he might even be able to rid the town of Smith while he was more susceptible.

"Pull in," Julie urged.

"No way," Dean had snapped, "we're getting you to town. I can't help your friend with you taggin' along."

"No," Julie screamed as she lunged toward the steering wheel.

Shocked by the girl's outburst, Dean had slammed on the brakes, bringing the big car to a halt. Julie, thrown off by the sudden stop, slid into the dashboard with a cry of pain.

"Crap," Dean muttered as he put the car in park and reached a hand toward the girl.

Tears poured down her cheeks as she cradled her arm to her chest. He could only imagine that hitting the dash hadn't helped her shoulder.

"Please," she sobbed, "you promised you'd help Chris."

Frustrated beyond belief with the stubborn girl, Dean had snapped, "I promised to help your friend not lead you to your death."

"You don't understand," Julie sniffed pathetically, "she's my best friend. The only sister that I have."

Dean had dropped his head in surrender. He knew just how he'd feel if he'd left his own brother at the mercy of Smith. Honestly, Julie was right. Their best chance to find Christine, if she was still alive, was to move now and move fast. Not ready to give up completely, Dean turned to face the blonde.

"Okay, listen. I can deal with Smith and I can get your friend out. What I can't deal with is looking after you. We're gonna scout out the area and find a place for you to rest. Then I'll go, by myself," Dean snapped as he saw the protest forming on Julie's lips, "to find your friend."

As impossible as it seemed, Julie began to cry even harder as she babbled out a spate of thank you's.

That had been nearly five hours ago. Since then he'd managed to locate an abandoned cabin that was still more or less intact. He'd surrounded the feeble structure with every kind of protection he could think of and he still wasn't confident it was enough. The sight of the Impala resting on three slashed tires seemed to confirm his worries.

Though the feeling of being watched left him with daybreak, Julie's would-be stalker had obviously tracked them down while he'd been inside dealing with the girl's shoulder. The fact that the monster had managed to get this close didn't sit well with Dean. He had no idea how he was supposed to protect the young girl, and at the same time go after her friend.

First things first, he told himself as he pushed off the car with a grimace, supplies. Then he'd check on Julie and decide on a course of action. The way he figured it, Sam and his father would have long realized by now that something was wrong.

With the hope that the cavalry arrived soon, Dean set about sorting his supplies.

888

"Dean's with you," Sam asserted.

At Sam's conformation, John's hand involuntarily tightened on the phone pressed to his ear. Damn, he thought as he closed his eyes and dropped onto the bed behind him. He had known something was wrong as soon as dawn had broken and his boys still hadn't arrived. Dean was many things, but irresponsible wasn't one of them.

"No, Sam, he's not," John said with a sigh.

After giving them another hour and a half, he'd begun calling the house, half-praying someone would answer. When calls home garnered nothing more than his own gruff voice demanding that a message be left, he'd slammed down the phone in equal parts fear, exasperation and anger.

He found himself embarrassed to admit it took another twenty minutes of pacing and anxious glances out the motel window for him to remember the cell phone he'd given Dean only weeks before. By that point he was so terrified, he had begun barking out questions before he realized he'd gotten nothing more than his oldest son's voice demanding that a message be left.

It was at that point John finally managed to get himself under some kind of control. Dean was twenty years old, not some wet behind the ears kid, he kept telling himself as he began to double check he had everything needed to deal with the rawhead. Then there was Sam, while the kid's smart-ass remarks could drive a saint to drink, he was no less capable than his brother.

They were more than competent to deal with any situation that might arise. Hell, John snorted with a faint smile, together his boys were more formidable than he could ever hope to be.

Together, nothing would be able to get the drop on them, at least not for long.

Knowing he needed to keep busy or go crazy, he had quickly scribbled down some instructions for the boys, just in case, and left the paper on the table-top. He had then grabbed his gear and headed out to hunt himself a rawhead.

That had been nearly twelve hours ago. During that time he'd broken off on his search at least eight times to try every number he had for his boys. His motel room, Dean's cell phone, and the house all remained dead-ends. After his last barrage of phone calls, he'd returned to the hotel in defeat.

Other than a trail of small broken bodies he'd gotten no closer to tracking beast terrorizing the rural community. There remained only two other possible locations for the creature's lair, but he held out little hope. Rawheads didn't need anything fancy, they could make due with even a small outcropping of rocks as long as it was secluded. His chances of finding this thing would have been ten-fold with two extra sets of hands.

That thought had brought him to the crux of his problem. Near as he could tell his boys had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours now. Twenty-four hours in which god only knew what had happened.

No longer had he been able to pretend they were simply bogged down by mechanical problems or had taken a wrong turn. So, he'd picked up the white receiver of the motel phone one last time and had dialed home without much hope.

"What do you mean, no?" Sam whispered, bringing the elder Winchester back into the here and now.

Faced with Sammy's growing panic, John pushed aside his own fear and concentrated on his youngest.

"I need facts, Sam, now," John snapped hoping to head off the breakdown he could hear in the kid's voice. "I need to know everything you know."

He could clearly picture his son, eyes awash in tears, snap to attention at the order. Like clockwork, Sam began to reel off facts.

"Dean left here last night after eight, it might have been even closer to nine."

"Why didn't you come," John demanded without any true anger. He really didn't need to hear the excuse; he could easily guess why Dean had let the kid off the hook. It had been for the same reasons John himself had planned on using Sammy for nothing more than research and strategy. He hadn't wanted the teen exposed to what this creature was doing to these kids.

Dean, always his brother's protector, would have faced the rawhead alone and with his bare hands rather than allow Sam near it.

"I had exams, I couldn't miss," Sam defended hotly.

Knowing his son would have to deal with his own guilt, John let it drop and reminded him, "Where's Dean's itinerary?"

Years ago in a Massachusetts, John's kids had managed to find themselves a local spirit that was haunting a poor girl. Unable to reach their father they'd taken it upon themselves to rescue the girl and her aunt. As per usual, at least it seemed like it to him, John had arrived on the scene too late to actually save Dean from serious injury. He'd spent six weeks imparting on his boys how important it was that they back each other up. To John that'd meant no taking off without letting him know when, where, and what they were doing.

Dean, of course, had taken the lecture to heart. The only problem was he'd warped John's instructions so they only applied if he was separated from his brother. Now whenever the twenty year old had to leave Sam behind, he left the youth with a rundown of where he'd be, how he was getting there and how Sam could contact him if need be.

The sound of the phone hitting a hard surface was enough to alert John to the fact that Sam was in the process of finding the information. Only a year ago, his son would have had the packet tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the information contained within memorized. Lately, though, Sam seemed to see it as a weakness if he cared too much about where his older brother was.

"He said it was only four hours out. He expected to be at your hotel by midnight."

"Damn," John breathed as he rubbed a weary hand over his face. A four-hour trip for Dean was nothing; his son ate up miles of asphalt better than any trucker ever had. "Did he leave you a map?"

Sam's voice shook with emotion. "There's a map with his route marked, and your hotel information, even a map of the town you're in."

There was no mistaking the warble in Sam's voice as he continued, "He...the jerk...he...folded it all up and sealed it with red-candle wax. I...had to break the stupid seal."

Despite the gravity of the situation, John had to smile, his oldest son never lacked in the drama department. "What'd he emboss the wax with?"

Instead of a laugh as he'd hoped, Sam's breath hitched and he whispered, "I think it's a pair of boobs."

Involuntarily, John dropped the hand that held the phone to his lap and put one hand over his mouth to stifle a frantic laugh. Leave it up to his womanizing son to find a stamp of a naked woman.

"Dad!"

John jumped at the muffled shout and placed the phone to his ear once more. Garnering every bit of his self control, he answered, "I'm here, son."

"What now?" Sam questioned suddenly sounding much younger than his sixteen years.

Despite his own uncertainty, John was careful to keep his voice even and firm. "Now? Now, you're going to do what you do best Sam. I want you to take the information your brother left you and find him."

"But-"

At his words, Sam had begun to protest. John ignored him and cut him off, "You know the drill, start calling police, hospital and morgues along his route."

"Morgues?" Sam asked in a whisper.

"Everywhere, Sam. We'll have a better chance of finding him if we know where he's not," John said firmly.

Already his mind was spinning, presenting him with a hundred different scenarios that could have interrupted his son's trip. What worried him most weren't the typical human ones, like mechanical failure or even running into trouble. What worried him was the kind of danger that could be found off the grid.

His son had proven more than once to be a magnet for trouble. Even with an arsenal in the trunk, Dean may have found himself in trouble too deep to handle.

"I'm gonna take care of his rawhead and be on the road in two hours. You, are gonna find a place for me to start searching. You got that?"

John hated leaving his Dean to his fate for any longer than necessary, but he was unable to abandon the children of this town to a fate worse than death. His son, of all people, would understand.

"What? Wait?" Sam questioned his voice cracking in fear. "I can't do this. You have to come home now. I'll give you his route and you can find him."

Despite knowing he was giving Sam yet another reason to look at him in disappointment, John stuck to his guns. "Sam, much as you don't want to admit it, your brother can handle himself. The people in this town can't. This rawhead is one evil son of a bitch and its grabbing kids faster than you can imagine."

Though the boy made no sound, John could clearly imagine the outrage on his face. Needing to make him understand John continued, "Sam-"

Before he could finish his thought, there was a sharp click and the phone in his hand went dead.

"Damnit, Sam," John swore at the phone as he slammed it down.

Without wasting a minute, he grabbed up his weapons duffle and headed out the door. He had two final locations to check, an abandoned shack on the outskirts of town, and a mill factory down by the river. With a prayer toward the heavens that his first-born would be okay, John turned his focus toward the hunt.

888

Sam stared at the phone he'd just slammed onto the receiver with a mixture of shock and revulsion. He found it nearly impossible to believe that he'd just hung up on his father. He was somewhat stunned to see the phone hadn't burst into flames after such an act of mutiny.

John's words began to replay in his mind.

Your brother can handle himself.

For Sam, John's brush off was little more than a vindication his father wasn't to be trusted. Not that he hadn't realized it long ago. He had never understood how his brother could put such faith in the man.

While John had always shown up for the big occasions, the ones where he was under scrutiny from the outside world, he'd rarely if ever, been there for the day to day that made up his sons' lives. Despite Dean's denial, Sam had long ago realized that he and his brother came second to the hunt.

Sam's sense of normal, skewed though it may be, was solely the product of his brother's efforts. His brother was the glue that held Sam's small family together. Without him, Sam didn't know what would happen to him and his father.

Your brother can handle himself.

Now, here they stood, just where Sam feared they would end up. Dean gone and John off saving other people's kids rather than his own.

The youngest Winchester drew his arm across his face to dry the tears that leaked sluggishly from his eyes, and sniffed. With one last fleeting glance toward the phone, he gathered up Dean's itinerary and headed for the kitchen table. As he went he flipped on a couple lights bringing the dingy room into the light.

In the kitchen, Sam grabbed a coke from the fridge and settled in at the table. A phonebook, a notepad of paper and Dean's information spread out before him.

Your brother can handle himself.

'This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds' was printed boldly across the envelope in his brother's familiar script. Leave it to Dean to turn something as mundane as directions into a joke, Sam thought as he swiped ineffectually at his face.

As he fingered the envelope, he couldn't stop the sobs that broke from his chest. The idea of his brother lost was killing him and his father's apparent nonchalance even more so. John could pretend all he wanted, but Dean would never put some nameless kids in front of finding Sam, of that he was sure.

His brother wouldn't be satisfied with just tracking him down. His brother would act.

Determination began to grow inside the teen as he set about tracing his brother's route on a map of the area. As he worked, an idea began to form for finding his brother.

TBC