Chapter Two: Midnight at the Lost and Found
Bangor, Maine- 1999
Dean fumbled in the pocket of his jacket for his cell phone as it vibrated and trilled out the chords to 'Smoke on the Water.'
"Yeah?" he grouched into the speaker.
His father's voice came in loud and clear, "I'm still at the library… got them to let me stay after close so I'm gonna be a few more hours yet."
That was not completely unexpected news. The local police thought that his Dad was working for the FBI so they'd pretty much let John have anything he wanted- as long as he could stop the killing.
"Okay, well I'm headed back to the motel," Dean told him.
John made a sound in his throat, "Just as long as it doesn't involve a pit-stop at the bar."
Same goes for you too, Dad; Dean thought but didn't say it out loud.
"No sir," Dean muttered.
"Don't wait up for me," John instructed, "I'll wake you if I find out something."
"Okay," Dean said, "Happy hunting."
John hung up and Dean stared at the phone for a moment before closing it. Slipping the cell back into his pocket, Dean sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. He would have liked to spend all night hanging out at the local watering-hole, maybe pick up a girl for the night, but he wasn't in the mood, not tonight.
It was black as pitch out but that didn't stop Dean from driving ten over the speed limit. He let one hand free from the steering wheel and turned on the radio- the silence in the car was too oppressive- and grinned when 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' by the Scorpions came blaring through the speakers.
Dean peered up through the windshield just as a streak of colour dashed in front of the car.
"Shit!" Dean swore and slammed on the breaks.
He heard a solid thump as the Impala skidded to a halt, tires squealing on the blacktop.
Dean sat still for a moment, heart pounding in his chest, listening to the rumble of the engine.
"Please be a dog, oh God please be a dog," Dean whispered and unfastened his seatbelt before opening the door.
Dean got out of the car slowly, he couldn't believe he'd just hit someone's pet.
Cautiously, preparing himself for the sight of a mangled cat or dog, Dean inched toward the front of the Impala…
And his stomach dropped down to his feet. It was no dog or cat. It was a boy. He lay in a crumpled heap before the car's shiny metal fender.
"Fuck," Dean breathed and quickly moved to the boy's side.
He rolled the boy over and his stomach did a flip-flop when he realized he was still breathing.
"Hey, hey, kid," Dean lightly tapped the boy's cheek. His eyes fluttered weakly but Dean could see he was completely out of it.
"Okay," Dean stood and peered around- they were absolutely alone on a deserted stretch of road. Trees surrounded them on all sides and the only sounds- over the rumble of the Impala's engine- were the croak of tree frogs, the hooting of owls and the occasional howl of a coyote.
"Don't suppose your parents are nearby?" Dean muttered and looked down at the boy. He sighed; he had to make a snap decision.
Receiving no answer, Dean went back to the Impala and opened the passenger door in the back before he bent down and lifted the kid- one arm beneath the boy's shoulders, the other under his knees.
The boy was surprisingly light. He stirred feebly in Dean's grasp.
"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean muttered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
He slid the boy onto the bench seat and grabbed a blanket from the floor, draping it over the younger man and tucking the corners in.
Dean stood up and peered at the boy. There was something odd about him but Dean couldn't quite put his finger on it.
It was then that Dean noticed the boy's feet- which were sticking out from underneath the blanket- were bare. He had no socks or shoes on and they were dirty and bruised-looking, like he'd been walking a long distance.
Maybe he's a runaway; Dean mused and closed the door. He got into the driver's seat and started the car- music now pounding out the rapid tempo of Metallica's 'Blitzkrieg'- and headed straight for the motel.
W
"Trust me, Dad," Dean spoke quietly into the receiver as he paced around the room, "You're gonna wanna come back now."
After his father's promise that he'd drop everything and return to the motel, Dean peeked at the boy lying on one of the two beds.
The kid was still unconscious and that worried Dean a little bit so it comforted him somewhat that his Dad was coming back. John was always better at that medical crap than Dean was.
While he waited, Dean had a chance to give the boy a more thorough look-over. The kid had been so light because he was so damn thin. Not emaciated exactly, Dean wouldn't go so far as to say that, but the kid had no bulk to him. At all. Kid was all long arms and legs and bones sticking out like a pre-pubescent ten year-old. The kid's clothes weren't great either. Dean saw that he was wearing a pair of black jogging pants that were a little too short for him and an oversized white t-shirt stained with God knew what.
Not the kind of clothes you'd wanna be hiking in, Dean thought and wondered more and more if the kid had run away from something or someone.
The kid's dark brown hair was long, shoulder length, slightly wavy and in dire need of a wash.
There was a sharp knock on the motel room door and Dean opened it to see his father. John stepped inside and stopped when he saw the boy.
"Who's that?" he asked suspiciously.
Dean scratched the back of his head, "I might have hit him with the car."
"You what!" John shouted in anger.
"He ran in front of me! I couldn't stop fast enough!" Dean countered, "I don't think he's got any broken bones or anything."
"Why didn't you bring him to a hospital," John moved further into the room and stood by the bed, peering down at the boy.
"Dad, look at him," Dean pointed to the boy, "What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say?"
John glowered at his son.
He's not happy with any decision I make so why should this be any different? Dean thought and spoke, "Besides, maybe he knows something, ya know?"
John raised an eyebrow.
"He was running around in the Maine woodlands," Dean suggested, feeling that it was a lame excuse but stuck to his guns.
"Look, I couldn't leave him out in the middle of nowhere and I wasn't going to dump him at some random hospital either," Dean explained, "Kid's got no ID on him anyway. Haven't a clue as to who he is."
"Alright," John acquiesced reluctantly, "We'll wait until he wakes up, find out who he is and then take him back to his family."
Dean nodded but even then he didn't think he'd be returning the boy to his parents- Dean didn't think the boy had any- since the kid looked to be around fifteen or sixteen years old and someone that age should know better than to wander around outside without shoes or proper clothing.
Dean sat down on the opposite bed, watching the boy's chest rise and fall with each breath while John pulled his duffle bag to his side and sat down at the rickety table in one corner of the room. The older hunter pulled a thick leather-bound tome from the bag and flipped through it.
Dean's attention waned after a while and he took his cell phone out, scrolling down the contact list until he found Bobby's name.
"Hey, maybe we could call Bobby, for the case you know?" he suggested and his father gave a noncommittal grunt in response.
Dean sighed and turned back to the boy when he gave a groan and his eyes fluttered in his sleep.
"Dad, I think he's waking up!" Dean exclaimed excitedly and leaned closer.
John was at Dean's side immediately and looked like he was having a difficult time resisting the urge to shake the boy by the shoulders.
Dean bit his lip in anticipation, John's hands clenched into loose fists.
The boy's eyes opened slowly, painfully- Dean could see that they were bright, mossy green- and something tugged at his heart.
John moved forward but stopped just before touching the boy. Dean glared at his father from the corner of his eye- 'give him a minute before you go all Spanish Inquisition on him' his look said.
The kid struggled to sit up and cautiously Dean helped him lean his back against the bed's headrest. The kid panted, warily staring at the two men through long dark bangs, his eyes glazed and slightly unfocused.
"It's okay kid, we're not gonna hurt you," Dean tried to sooth.
"Who are you? Where am I?" the kid blurted out.
"You're at a motel," John rumbled from behind Dean.
The kid's eyes darted around the room and he groaned softly in pain.
"Take it easy," Dean cautioned, "Just relax, okay?"
"Are you going to take me back?" the kid asked and Dean frowned.
"Back where?" John interrupted.
"The school," the kid said defiantly.
Dean looked at his father. The kid could only be talking about some sort of boarding school but there were none in the immediate area. Then again, the kid did look like he'd been walking for miles.
Dean shook his head, "We won't do anything you don't want us to, right Dad?"
John didn't say anything but nodded.
The kid's defiant expression crumpled and he took a few shuddering breaths.
"Hey, its okay, it is… you can stay as long as you need to," Dean said, earning a withering glare from his father.
The kid shook his head, "I can't… I have to leave…"
At this the boy swung his legs off the bed but Dean put a hand on his knee, halting his progress, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You've gotta take it easy, kid. How long have you been running anyway?"
The kid stopped trying to get off the bed and blinked up at Dean and John.
"I- I don't really know…" the kid muttered.
"He should really be in a hospital, Dean," John whispered in his son's ear, "We don't know anything about him, hell, how do we know he isn't possessed or bitten by a werewolf or any number of other monsters? Did you even do the tests before you brought him here?"
John's tone was accusatory and Dean's shoulders slumped because, no, he hadn't thought about testing the kid out while he rushed to the motel room, afraid he'd seriously injured the poor bastard.
John nodded and headed over to his duffle bag, pulling a silver flask of holy water out.
"Here, drink this," John spoke in his ex-Marine voice- a voice Dean knew to convey complete and utter authority with no room for disobedience.
Dean uncapped the flask and held it out to the boy. The kid looked at the offered water warily, "What is it?"
"Just water," Dean said and demonstrated its harmlessness by tipping the mouth of the flask to his lips, letting the water wet them but not actually drinking.
The kid reached out and held the flask with both hands. He wasn't throwing the silver vessel away from him and screeching- so far so good.
The boy guzzled down the water, it had picked up a metallic taste from the canister but it was better than the water from the stagnant pools he'd stopped at while he'd walked- unable to find a stream or river.
When the boy handed the empty flask back to Dean with no ill-effects, the older boy raised an eyebrow at his father in a 'what were you so worried about?' look.
John crossed his arms over his chest; not looking at all convinced that the boy wouldn't turn into a snarling, foaming werewolf as soon as the clouds scudded away from the fat, bloated moon outside.
"You need to stay in bed, you might have a concussion," Dean instructed in a less severe tone than his father would have spoken with.
The kid's eyes darted from Dean to John, "But I… I can't stay… I need to leave… they'll come for me… they'll find me!"
Dean raised an eyebrow and John growled deep in his throat, "Who's looking for you?"
The boy looked frightened for a moment, "At the school…"
"Yes?" John pressed, shouldering past Dean who glared daggers at him in return. John's 'take-no-shit' Drill Sergeant attitude wasn't going to get them anywhere.
The boy looked at the two older men with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face, his mouth opened and closed several times as though he wanted to speak but then he shook his head.
John grabbed Dean's upper arm and pulled him away from the boy, "We're talking. Now."
The two crossed the room so as not to be overheard and Dean pulled out of his father's grasp, "What the fuck's wrong with you, Dad?"
John glowered, "What the fuck's wrong with me? Dean, we know nothing about this kid- where he's from, who his parents are, what his name is- and you want to go all Good Samaritan on him! He could be dangerous, he could be lying-"
"I don't know what you're seeing but all I see is a scared kid who apparently has been running for his life and needs our help! Have we stopped helping innocent people? Did I not get the memo because the last time I checked we helped anyone who was in need… anyone," Dean whispered heatedly back.
John sighed, "Well, he didn't react to the silver or the holy water at least."
"Damn straight!" Dean agreed.
"Fine, take care of him if you want Dean, but he's your responsibility," John instructed his son as though Dean had picked up a puppy instead of a boy.
Dean waved a hand in exasperation at his father, "All I wanted was to take the kid back to his family."
John's expression softened somewhat, then. Dean had a big heart, always trying to be the hero and save the day. Boy needed to learn the realities though- there were not always happy endings. Sometimes you were just a little too late to save everyone.
He knew that Dean was not stupid, far from it in fact, but sometimes he tried a little too hard to save those who couldn't be saved.
"Have you had dinner yet?" John asked his son, changing the subject.
Dean shook his head.
John nodded, "Me either. I'll go and get us some burgers."
Dean watched as his father's gaze travelled to the boy sitting on the bed, staring them curiously.
"See if you can get him to talk," John suggested. The kid would probably open up more readily if he wasn't there.
"Yes sir," Dean said and John grabbed the keys to his truck and left the motel room.
Dean turned to the boy. He approached slowly, so as not to scare the kid and spoke softly.
"My Dad's just getting us something to eat. Are you hungry? Do you like burgers?"
The kid watched Dean warily as he sat down on the bed across from him. He tilted his head to the side. He was hungry- the last thing he'd eaten before arriving in this place was a handful of berries he'd found in the forest- but he wasn't sure he wanted a burger, whatever that was.
Dean gave the kid a smile, trying to reassure the boy that he wasn't going to hurt him.
"I'm Dean," he introduced himself. He couldn't keep thinking of the kid as, well, 'The Kid' for the remainder of his time with the Winchesters.
The boy made no response.
"That's when you say what your name is," Dean prompted.
The kid looked a little bit surprised as though he'd never been asked his name before, Dean thought- and peered around the room as though it would give him time to think of a lie.
"My name's Samuel," the boy finally answered after a lengthy pause.
Dean kept his own shocked expression in check. His heart pounded excitedly in his chest though. Could it just be a coincidence? Dean wondered. There was probably a shit-ton of boys out there named Samuel. But I don't believe in coincidence, Dean told himself.
"That's a cool name," Dean smiled.
Samuel shrugged, "I guess. Never thought about it before."
"My Dad's name is John," Dean offered, trying to get Samuel to talk to him.
The boy nodded.
"What are your parents' names?" Dean asked curiously.
"I don't know," Samuel answered in a voice that was barely above a whisper. He had never met his parents before. Samuel had been at the school for as long as he could remember- all the children had been- and not a single one of them could recall their parents' names or faces. They'd been told that such attachments were unimportant and it would be best to forget them. Dean sat back. How could the boy not know what his parents' names were? Could they be those weird people who called each other 'Mom' and 'Dad'? Dean hadn't thought people actually did that sort of thing.
"That's okay, Sam," Dean said casually and then realized what he'd just said. "Samuel," Dean corrected quickly.
The boy didn't seem to notice the mistake though.
"Do you live here?" Samuel asked, peering around the room, his gaze not as wary as it had been, a mild curiosity shone in his green eyes now.
"We move around a lot, this is only temporary," Dean explained. What kid didn't know what a motel was?
There was something very odd about the boy. He seemed like he was smart but he appeared to be missing important everyday knowledge, stuff that anybody would know.
"So this, uh, school of yours… what did they teach you there?" Dean asked, maybe the kid was part some sort of cult. That would better explain why the kid had been running as though Hell Hounds were chasing him.
Samuel shrugged and refused to acknowledge Dean's question. He looked away from the older boy to study the sunburst wall clock as though he found it fascinating.
Dean pursed his lips. Getting answers from the kid was like pulling teeth.
Before Dean could ask the kid anything else, the door to the motel opened and John stepped inside, a greasy paper bag clutched in one hand.
"Great! I'm starving!" Dean jumped up from the bed and crossed the room within seconds, taking the baggie from his father.
John looked at his son but the expression on Dean's face said that they would talk later.
Dean pulled a chair out at the shaky-legged table and looked at the boy, "C'mon over here and sit."
Samuel stood immediately, instinctually obeying what sounded like an order and made his way quickly to the table. He sat down and waited.
John took his seat and Dean rummaged around in the take-out bag for the food, pulling out three wax-paper wrapped hamburgers.
"Only three?" Dean asked, a little disappointed.
John rolled his eyes, "Next time you can buy a dozen if you like."
"I'm a growing boy, I need all the food I can get," Dean commented with a wry grin and slid a burger over to his father and Samuel.
John just shrugged. He knew Dean could eat a like a horse but he didn't want to tell his son that he had been a little bit strapped for cash; John didn't want his boy to know that most of the money had gone to the five bottles of whiskey he'd stashed in his truck.
Dean unwrapped his burger and took a large bite, munching happily on the greasy, hot food. John likewise began eating, with the same table manners as his son and nobody said anything as the first bites of dinner were taken.
Dean stopped in mid-chew when he saw that the boy, Samuel, was watching him eat but hadn't touched his food at all.
The older boy put his half-eaten burger on its paper wrapper, "Aren't you hungry?"
"Oh, um," Samuel's gaze slid down and an uneasy expression appeared on his face.
John had also stopped eating and was peering curiously at the boy.
"Don't you like hamburgers?" Dean asked as though speaking to a child.
Samuel shrugged and he bit his lip, embarrassed.
John looked at Dean from the corner of his eye- 'you deal with him'- the expression said.
"Have you ever eaten a burger before?" Dean asked now.
Samuel shook his head.
Dean smiled reassuringly, "You'll like them. Just try a little bit."
What kid hasn't had a burger? Dean and John wondered simultaneously.
Dean watched the boy slowly unwrap the paper from the burger, pick it up and scrutinize it for a moment before taking a tentative nibble.
The Winchesters watched as the boy chewed thoughtfully for a moment before his nose wrinkled and he sat the burger down on the paper. Dean's eyes widened- he didn't like it!
"It's an acquired taste," Dean supplied as though they were eating caviar or escargot or foie gras.
Samuel nodded and the two Winchesters continued with their meal.
Kid should really eat something; Dean thought and looked quizzically at John.
Dean's Dad just shrugged and crumpled his burger wrapper into a ball before tossing it into the trash can beside the table.
Dean stood and stretched, checked his watch and spoke to his father, "It's getting late Dad; do you want me to tuck you into bed?"
John scowled but nodded, knowing Dean wanted to speak to him.
The Winchesters had separate rooms- yes, it was a little more money but it allowed for privacy- which was exactly what Dean liked, especially if he and John were fighting. John paused to grab his duffle bag from the table- intending to organize some of his research in his own room.
The two men stepped outside; Dean left the door ajar after telling Samuel that he would be right back (and secretly hoped the boy wouldn't take off) and waited impatiently as John unlocked the door to his own room.
John's room was strewn with papers; research. Notes had been handwritten and thrown haphazardly across the table, the unused second bed, tacked onto the walls.
"Find anything?" Dean asked his father. He hadn't had a chance to ask if John's search of the files at the library had been fruitful or not.
"Still think it's a ghost," John rubbed the stubble on his chin, "But for the life of me I can't find a God damn thing about any deaths that would warrant such a thing."
The Winchesters had arrived in Bangor, Maine a week ago after hearing reports of several local drownings. The victims had all be young men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight and had apparently all be in good shape, leaving everyone to wonder how they had managed to drown. The incidents had occurred at a man-made lake just outside of the city- a lake which had no ill events connected to it- and all in the twilight hours of the day.
"Maybe it's not a ghost," Dean suggested.
"What the fuck could it be, though?" John wondered out loud.
"Demon, shapeshifter," Dean began to list but his father shook his head.
"There was no sulfur at the lake or on any of the victims and none of the victims were robbed or anything like that so it rules out a shifter," John argued.
"Maybe it just likes killing guys for shits and giggles," Dean countered, "We have come across those types of monsters too."
John still couldn't shake the feeling it was a ghost though, not one victim had defensive wounds, it all appears that they had just gone into the water and died. It had to be a ghost; any forced drowning would leave signs.
Changing the subject John said, "I'll call Bobby in the morning, get his opinion. What did you find out about the kid?"
Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "His name's Samuel-"
John's eyes flashed at that, "Dean, what-"
His son waved the interrupted question away, "I know, Dad, I know. Let me talk, will you?"
John nodded and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
"I didn't ask for a last name… He doesn't know who his parents are," Dean continued.
John didn't look surprised, "He must be an orphan, a ward of the state and possibly a runaway from a foster home."
Dean nodded. That made sense, he had heard that some of the places kids got sent to were little better than Hell. No wonder the kid had run away. Dean supposed that the wilderness was better than a shit-hole masquerading as a foster home.
"That doesn't explain the school he keeps talking about," Dean told John.
"Maybe it's got something to do with the foster home," John suggested.
"So… What are we going to do about him?" Dean asked, slowly, cautiously.
"I'm gonna call up the local CPS and see if they've had any recent reports of runaways and if they have, well, we'll send him back," John thought that was the best thing to do. The boy, Samuel, was not his or Dean's responsibility, really. He was a ward of the state and as such, the state of Maine would deal with him as it wished. John hunted monsters; he did not babysit teenage foster home runaways.
"You can't take him back! You know he could have come from one of those bad homes, why would you want to send him back there?" Dean exclaimed.
"Dean, he's only got a couple of more years to go before he's legally of age, after that he can leave but right now he can't be traipsing all over New England," John said, trying to reason with his overzealous son.
Dean was shaking his head, "Okay, what if he's not a runaway?"
"Then you can personally take him to a hospital or the police station and they can locate his folks," John said in a stern voice.
"I'm not dumping him off anywhere," Dean gritted his teeth.
"He's a young man, Dean, not a stray dog you picked up off the street!" John growled, growing angry.
"All the more reason to help him," Dean argued, "Because that's what we do, help people!"
John just shook his head, "Fine, Dean, I don't care what you do but when we wrap this case up and are ready to leave that boy is not coming with us."
Dean didn't know what to say. He wanted to help Samuel so badly but John wasn't giving him any options. He'd have to find something permanent for the kid- a distant aunt or grandfather he could live with- because Dean knew that John wasn't going to budge from his decision.
Dean turned away from his father and stepped out the door. He was so angry at his father. John never listened to him, never trusted him again after what happened with Sammy. Dean sighed; he wished he could go back to that hot, Kentucky evening and do things differently, do things right and maybe he'd still have his little brother and his Dad wouldn't be a drunk and the guilt wouldn't constantly be eating away at his insides.
Dean pulled himself together as he stepped back into his own room. Samuel was still sitting at the table but the previously nibbled hamburger the kid had discarded, was gone. Dean held back a smile. Kid must have been hungry after all.
"Are you tired? It's kind of late?" Dean asked, checking his watch and saw it was just past nine-thirty- not late at all by Winchester standards- but he thought Samuel must be exhausted.
Samuel lifted one shoulder, "A little bit."
Dean nodded and grabbed his duffle bag, rummaging around in it before pulling out what he'd been searching for.
The older boy held out a pair of clean, old jogging pants and a t-shirt.
Samuel peered at them curiously but didn't move to take the offered clothes.
"I figure you'd wanna wear something cleaner," Dean commented.
"Oh, uh, thank you," Samuel took the clothes.
"You can take a shower if you like," Dean suggested. Probably should, he thought, wash off all that sweat and road dust.
Samuel turned to the bathroom and made his way inside, closing the door behind him. Dean waited until he heard the shower before he sat down. Dean really didn't know what to do- he knew that he couldn't have the kid tagging along when he and John were ready to leave but he also didn't want to dump Samuel out on his ass either.
Dean wished that John would show just a little bit of faith in him. There was something about the kid that intrigued Dean, that tugged at his heart and called to him- he knew it sounded sappy but that was just the effect the boy had on him- and he was interested in learning more about the mysterious teen.
He turned to the bathroom when he heard the water shut off and Samuel emerged, looking much better for the shower.
Dean smiled; he got up and took Samuel's dirty clothes. The boy was still a little awkward- of course he would be, Dean reminded himself- and stood before the open bathroom door as though unsure of how to proceed.
"Ready for bed?" Dean asked as he would of a child.
Samuel shrugged one shoulder, "I guess so."
Dean pointed to the bed he'd laid the boy on when he brought him to the motel- it had originally been Dean's but since there were two beds he didn't mind giving his up- and Samuel obediently went over and sat down amongst the rumpled sheets.
Dean noticed that the kid was not really getting ready to sleep- he simply sat there as though waiting for a cue only he could hear- staring at Dean.
The older teen sighed and pulled off his boots and socks. It was ridiculously early but apparently the kid wanted Dean to go to sleep as well.
"Is this what you want?" Dean asked, not bothering to hide the vehemence in his voice as he turned out the lights and stumbled blindly to his bed and lay down on his back.
"Happy now? Will you go to sleep?" Dean grumbled.
No, Samuel thought. He was not happy- he was scared and tired and all he wanted to do was keep running away as far as he could go. He wanted to forget everything that had happened in the past days and not be constantly terrified he'd be found out. He was not tired. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins and into his heart- Samuel didn't know a person could have that much energy- leaving him wide awake and on edge, nervous.
Dean sat up and squinted at the kid in the darkened room.
"What happened to you?" he asked quietly, not even sure if the boy had heard him.
Author's Note:
1. Chapter title comes from a Meatloaf song of the same name.
2. Thanks to LeighAnnWallace, rohopretender, BranchSuper, mb64, SPN Mum, cold kagome, Serendipityhimesheppard, PhantomBrat, LAHH, LightLessStar, SARA1988, Samstruck, sarah, HP4eva121995, Helen, 3DBABE1999, Tandrele, sammygirl1963, and my Guests for reviewing.
3. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited/followed.
4. Reviews are sweeter than candy!