Chap 5

"Anything yet, John?"

John Winchester stared at the phone, wondering if all that church organ music had finally reverberated Pastor Jim's brain out of his skull.

"No, I don't have anything yet! If I knew where they were, I sure as hell wouldn't be here yaking on the phone. I've been everywhere the boys ever go, talked to every teacher and half the kids in that school. Nobody saw anything. I also showed the county's photo of Derrick Weaver to everyone in the neighborhood of his supposed house. They all agree Derrick Weaver used to live there. Nice respectable gentleman taking in all those wayward boys."

"Any comments from the neighbors on how those boys turned out?" Jim was trying to sound out how much John already knew.

"It seems he only took short term placements. Damn convenient. How'd you make out researching the good Derrick?"

Jim cleared his throat. It was just as well that they were talking on the telephone as he didn't particularly relish poking holes in John's world twice in less than forty eight hours. Kind of like poking a grizzly bear with a short stick. "Respectable gentleman wasn't exactly the term that came up. How he hid it here, I don't know, but I contacted a few other states. We, ah, we need to find 'em John. Right now."

"What are you trying not to say?"

"Drive here first; I'll make some more calls, and we'll organize a search."

"Talk to me, dammit!" Some part of John was vaguely aware he was taking out his frustration on his friend, but he didn't care. The motel currently serving as the Winchester home was only an hour from Blue Earth. If Murphy had only made it to the hospital last night..... No, that's not fair to him, he was out on a hunt, same as me....least he answered his phone....

"No." Not the easiest word to spit out at John, but he needed to calm down. "Cursing and impatience aren't going to bring Sam and Dean home. I'll see you in an hour."

John pulled in forty minutes later, storming into the small parsonage without knocking. Jim Murphy sat at his kitchen table, US map spread and sharpie in hand, connecting various cities with blue lines of ink.

"What's this?"

Jim ran a hand over his face in a manuever that oddly reminded John of his older son. "Places where Derrick Weaver has been a foster parent in the last 10 years are circled in red, blue arrows are the chronological path. Yellow circles are towns where a social worker involved in one of his cases either went missing or turned up dead."

John turned a chair backwards, sitting heavily before tapping his forehead on the ladder back. "Any where boys turned up missing or dead?"

Jim heaved a sigh, put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "The green circles. Missing, not dead, except for that one." He tapped a town in Michigan.

The silence stretched a moment, John almost visibly shoving his anger inside before raising his head. When he spoke again the voice and face were hollow. "I can't lose my boys, Jim. I can't."

"I know. Look, you're the best tracker around. Take a step back from this, see it as another hunt. We'll find them." He pushed the stack of newspaper articles across the table.

"A hunt. Hunt my sons?"

"No, hunt Derrick Weaver." Jim voice was sharper that he intended. True he didn't want John so angry that he was reckless, but defeated wasn't going to work any better.

The other man leaned back, weighing the idea. "That I can do."

Jim returned with coffee, reluctant to disturb John as he sorted the dwindling pile of newsprint.

"Pattern shifted a year and a half ago and then again four months ago." John tapped his fingers on orange dates that had now joined the kaledioscope on the map. Up until the first shift he moved about once a year, and all the boys remained accounted for. Abuse allegations flitted around, he was always long gone before anything could be substantiated. After the shift a few boys started to go missing, sometimes labelled as run aways, but they were pretty young for that. Mostly Sammy's age. That's when the social worker issue started too. Interestingly, his bank account suddenly took a major upswing at the same time, new deposits match up with boys that never made it back to the county. Four months ago, he abandons his house and the account goes inactive. Sam and Dean are the first children he's applied for since then."

"The missing boys, you're thinking he sold them?"

John's eyes were grim. "Yeah. Derrick Weaver's taken to brokering little boys."

"Dear Lord."

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Dean stared at Abigail, pulled Sam in tighter against his chest.

"Me? You need me!?" Shit.....Now what do I do?... Dean mustered up his best grin. "Doesn't everybody, doll? For arguments sake, though, ah, what for?"

"Nothing all that exotic, I fear. You know what I am, Dean?" She entered the cell and knelt in front of him, a hand running through his hair before coming it came to rest on his cheek.

"Aside from a really crappy foster parent?" He gestured at the iron bars. "Yeah, I know what you are, witch."

She clapped her hands in mock delight. "Very good, Dean. Winchester instincts have alway impressed me. As for my parenting skills, I've never really tried. I could give it a go, I suppose. Always heard they're sweetest when they're asleep." The grey eyes roamed over Sam.

Dean couldn't quite hear what she muttered under her breath, but the end result was plain enough. As soon as he exhaled, his ribs simply refused to expand again. He couldn't draw another breath, couldn't speak to protest when she pried his increasingly numb fingers loose from Sam's arms and scooped him from Dean's lap. Instinct flung Dean forward onto his hands and knees, head hung forward as he struggled to pant against a closed throat. He ground his fingernails against the stone floor as his vision tunneled in to the six inches directly in front of him, no amount of effort allowing him to track Sammy.

"Not going to give me any pointers on childcare, Dean? Bit irresponsible just turning your brother over to a stranger. He's already asleep, I don't have to read or sing to him or anything, right?" She handed Sam off to Bill behind her, reaching for a fistful of Dean's hair. She yanked his head up, surprised when he met her eyes with a fierce glare. The bright green irises only made the grey-blue tint of his face more obvious. "Not afraid yet? You should be. I can't comment as to parenting, but I am an exceptional witch. A witch with a spell to complete. And you... you are nothing more than a checkbox on the ingredients list. Carrots for my beef stew, that's all I need you for Dean, nothing more complicated than that."

She released her hold on his hair, a flick of her finger releasing his chest as well. Faint laughter escaped her lips as his forehead dropped to the floor in the midst of the desperate rasping breaths.

"What about this one, Abigail? I can take care of him." Bill hadn't spoken during the exchange, enjoying the ringside seat to her favorite trick.

"Hmm. Thank you, but no." She shrugged her slim shoulders. "Derrick made the mistake, he can fix it. Tomorrow morning though, I need him upstairs tonight. Leave the boy here for now. Oh, and Dean... make sure and enjoy your stay. It'll be short."

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"Derrick?" Bill found his cohort in the main foyer, arms loaded with expensive bags.

"What!?" Weaver's harrassed tone was evident.

"First off, what's your problem?" Bill rather found the precarious stack of cases funny.

"Oh, let's see. Maybe it's that I'm not a hotel porter. Or a pack mule either. I've been carrying luggage for the last three hours. Exactly how many of Abigail's friends did she invite to spend the weekend here? I've toted crud for eight so far, all of whom brought enough junk to stay for a month instead of three days. Two of them brought yappy little dogs and I swear one came with a pair of cats. Who on earth travels with cats! I'm absolutely phoning animal control if I see 'em in the halls."

"Of course you won't. I thought you were the one who was all spooked out by Abigail earlier? I'm still considering calling the guys with the butterfly nets if you start back up with that witch nonsense. Besides, I've seen the guest list, there are only four more expected arrivals. She wants you here tonight to make sure dinner goes smoothly and to supervise the catering staff. Come morning though, she expects you to take care of our extra guest downstairs, got it?"

"I'll be more that ready to kill someone by morning, the trick's going to be waiting that long. I didn't come to work for her to be a damned butler. I have years worth of other skills." Derrick pointed to his own index finger as if he was about to enumerate a list.

"Your other skills are what made you need her to stay out of jail, don't forget that. And you would be mighty cute in one of those tailcoats."

Derrick managed to get through the evening with a minimum of interaction with his boss's overdressed guests, preferring to direct the hired waitstaff from the kitchens in between trips downstairs to check on his young charges. Silk and taffeta rustled in the marble corridors, the muted jewel tones of the gowns reflected in the crystal stemware and leaded glass windows. The soft clinking of china and silver accompanied laughter and a string quartet, tuxedo clad waiters silently refilling glasses. It appeared to be the reunion of a very exclusive sorority, dripping cascades of sapphires circling an elegant neck here, glittering rubies dangling from a wrist there. Several smaller monarchies would have been jealous. Abigail appeared to be thoroughly in her element, queen bee of her own ball.

He supposed he ought to have been impressed, but the gathering actually struck him as odd, perhaps even ominous. The dozen older ladies ranged from forty to sixty and all clearly knew each other well. A younger woman seemed more tenative, almost deferential to the others. And what about yesterday? He was still suspicious that there just might be such a thing as witches. So how in heaven's name did he get stuck at a gathering of thirteen women?

When the evening finally wound down, he made a final trip to the basement, noting that while he heard the elder boy talking, there was still no response from the smaller one. Probably wouldn't wake up before morning with the amount of ativan he'd injected in him. Still, it was difficult to tell with kids that young. As tempting as it was to follow instructions and kill the kid come morning, the decadence of the evening had given him another idea. He might have had to go underground four months ago, but he could still reach his old contacts quickly. With that much money in the world, may as well redirect a little more of it his own way. He was angry enough at being turned into the staff of 'to the manor born' for the night to risk it and that little Winchester was a pretty child, should line his pockets nicely. If he couldn't resist strangling someone, there was always Bill.

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"What time do you think it is Sammy?" Dean had been talking to his still sleeping brother for hours, watching the slack face for any sign of awakening. "It was eleven pm when we left the hospital. Not sure how long it took to get here, but Derrick did say it was morning the first time he spoke to me. Then the witch came, I'm thinking that was afternoon. Derrick was up and down the stairs for a while after that, dosed you again his last trip." Dean cringed with that particular memory, he didn't seem to be able to keep anyone away from Sam today. The fact that he'd gotten a black eye trying didn't change a thing in his book. "I'm guessing that meant bedtime and it's middle of the night again now. Second night here then, so Dad's gonna be getting close by now. Morning, though, that may not go so well. Really need for you to wake up, because we might need a plan B, ok?"

Dean paced the confines of the cell, the single lit torch providing a limited view of the corridor. There was no evidence of any other type of lighting down here. He didn't see any doors and every one he'd heard enter came down stairs out of sight to his left. Not a promising situation to fight your way out of, even if you weren't eleven. There was no chance of doing it without Sam awake and able to run. He sat on the pallet again, giving his brother another soft shake.

"Sammy? Come on, you can do it. Sammy?" Crap, he'd been out more than twenty four hours now. "Sammy?"

"Ummmm-hmmmm."

"That's it Sammy. Open your eyes."

"Don't wanna get up Dean. Not goin' to school today, 'kay?" Sammy snugged in closer to Dean's knee.

"We're not at home, remember? Open your eyes."

Sam peered up at Dean through tousled bangs, studying the frown before sweeping his eyes over the stone walls and finally the bars separating them from the hallway. "Dean? The man... he caught me in the woods, didn't he?"

"Caught both of us Sammy." Dean put on a smile he didn't feel. "Look, he's not the only one here, but he normally comes down alone. Next time he does, we're gonna get out of here. I need for you to do exactly what I say, even if it means leaving me here."

"But, Dean!" Sam huffed out a lip in his very best indignant look.

"Even if Sam! You can always send Dad for me, less work if he only has to bail one of us out anyway. You know how to find him if you're alone, he taught us that. I intend to stay with you if I can, but you do everything I say, got it?"

"Got it." Sam sat up unsteadily, again looking around. "I'm thirsty."

"I know, me too. There isn't anything kiddo, I'm sorry." Dean draped an arm around his brother, pulling him into his shoulder. "I'll find us something soon as I can."

"Dean?" His voice already sounded drowsy again.

"Yeah?"

"You're worried."

"Course I'm not worried. We'll get out of here in the morning, ok?"

"I can tell when you're worried. Can tell with Dad, too. Who else is here?" Sam's question trembled a little.

"A witch Sammy." Why on earth couldn't he lie to the kid? Never had any trouble doling out the blarney to anyone else. "Doesn't change anything, we'll get out."

Dean listened as Sam's breathing deepened again. Maybe he should have let him sleep. No matter what he'd said, Dean wasn't at all sure he could get Sam out of here before someone came for him in the morning. Someone that was supposed to kill him.

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A/N - So we're back to that pretty please review phase,lol. Seriously, they do make my day.

For anyone who's uncomfortable with the implication of what Derrick Weaver does for a living with those boys - I need him to be clearly repulsive in this story, and Jim has him correctly pegged, but it's gonna stay in the land of implication. There is no sexually descriptive content in this story. Thought I'd let you know as that's something a lot of us, including me, don't want to see described with the character ages in this fic.