Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.
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Chapter 7
When John closed his eyes, he was sitting in his truck at a red light. It was sunny out, and people were walking into town ready for the morning market. A teenage girl has walking across the road in front of him, long brown hair whipping around her face, dancing in the wind. Her scarf was pulled up around her chin and her cheeks were rosy. She'd been smiling, waving at someone on the opposite side of the road.
When he opened them again, it was to pitch black.
Every sense went instantly on high alert, his instincts screaming wrong, all wrong. Blinked once, twice, letting his eyes adjust. His fingers groped for the glove compartment, searching for the gun he kept there.
He was still sitting in the truck, but the engine that had been idling at the stop sign was now off. Slowly he turned his head, searching…
Nothing. Nothing was there, nothing to explain the sudden change in scenery. He relaxed infinitesimally. Risking a glance down, he saw the keys still dangling in the ignition. With one hand holding tight to the gun, he started up the truck and flicked on the headlights.
Snow was falling, tiny sparks of white drifting lazily past the twin beams projected from the truck. He could make out trees in front of him and to either side, stark black trunks protruding from the white blanket on the ground. Beyond them there was only black.
Breathing heavily, he noticed his breath pluming out in front of him. It was cold, freezing out, and how the hell had this happened? Where the hell was he, and how did he get here?
Sensing no immediate danger, he cautiously opened the truck door, stepping out into the night. Nothing attacked him, and he frowned hard enough to hurt.
John walked slowly around the truck, noting the build-up of snow around the sides. There were no tire-tracks. So however he'd gotten here, it had happened before the snow had begun to fall. A thick layer plastered the hood of the truck, nearly three inches deep. He dug his fingers in, scooping some off and flicking it onto the ground.
There was a moon above him, misty with clouds. The snow fell silently, and god if this didn't feel like a cheap horror movie. John half expected to hear the whoops of cannibals descending from the hills all around him.
He shivered in the frigid air. Wondered how long he'd been out here in the middle of god knows where. A day, at least. The snow hadn't been forecast for another week though, and his chest clenched painfully. If he'd been out here for a week already…
Why had no one found him? Surely Dean would have been worried, would have sent someone to track him down? Unless he really had been transported to some distant place, found a portal to Tibet in the middle of downtown Montana…
There was always alien abduction, he thought, huffing out a short laugh.
He walked a little way through the trees, finding a deserted road on the path. The truck must have been driven here and then dumped. By him? By something that had taken over his mind, made him lose himself in this place and left him for dead? Except he was still alive, and assuming he hadn't been abducted or sent to Tibet, he'd been gone a week with no food or water. He was a little hungry, but then he'd skipped breakfast on the last day he could remember. Too eager to get started on the job. He'd planned on picking up something later, figured it didn't really matter if he didn't eat because who the hell was around to worry about his diet when everyone he knew was at least two states away.
John went back to the car, climbing in and turning the heater up to full. His cell phone was sitting innocuously on the passenger seat beside him, exactly where he'd left it.
Switching it on, the first thing he noticed was the flashing symbol telling him he had missed calls. Forty-seven missed calls to be exact, and the same number of voicemail messages. The second thing he noticed was the no signal sign in the corner.
He sighed and started the car, carefully reversing down the slippery path until he reached the road. Hopefully he could find his way back to the town, and then maybe he'd get some answers.
The fox had taken him to a clearing in the forest, a perfect circle of flat snow-covered ground surrounded by thick bushes dappled in white. The sky was clear here, which Sam found strange after the thick clouds that had made walking through the forest so perilous. But above him shone a perfect sickle moon like a sharp smile, surrounded by pinprickle stars.
Sam sat cross-legged in the middle of the copse, heedless of the melting snow. It didn't seem to touch him, and he wondered if that was another trick, another of the seemingly endless abilities the fox had. Like setting his mind straight. Like distracting him from his worry about Dean, Jim, his dad.
Now the fox sat primly in front of him, its pointed muzzle held high. The full red tail swept back and forth in the snow behind it, leaving a fanned imprint behind that reminded Sam of Dean teaching him how to make snow angels.
"So, uh…" Sam said out loud. He felt suddenly stupid, sat in a dark forest in the middle of the night, with a fox, of all things. He let out a loud exhale. It startled him to realise his breath didn't hang in the air and he frowned, staring at the space the white mist should be.
The trade? The fox reminded him.
Yeah, that. I agree. I'll do your favour, and you do mine. But I'm not hurting anyone for you, you understand?
The fox inclined its head regally, blinking at him. It is acceptable. I only want what is mine.
So you'll let my dad go? Sam leaned forward, eager despite himself.
It is already done. I knew you would agree.
"What?" Sam said, jerking back and looking around stupidly, as if his dad would walk out of the woods. "He's okay?"
He is already travelling back into town. He will find your brother. The fox cocked its head to one side. So we shall wait here until morning. And then you shall fulfil your half of the agreement.
"No, mom, I'm okay. I'm just…talking some stuff through with the Pastors. Yeah, I'll be back soon. You don't have to wait up." Ben was talking on a cell phone. He was trying to be quiet about it, but to Dean he might as well have been shouting in his ear.
Jim sent him a sharp look; calm down, leave the boy alone, and Dean gritted his teeth against the curse that wanted to slip out.
He was trying to think positively, but hell, positive was never something he was good at. Sam was the one who would always tell him it was going to work out okay. Sam had enough hope for the both of them.
They had to find him.
If they found him, then maybe they'd find dad, and then they could all go back to Jim's and sit in front of the fire and leave this goddamned snow up in the mountains where it belongs. Dean would even make Sam some of the chocolate milk he liked so much, heated in a pan because apparently it tastes better that way. Jim would sit at the table, writing quietly, and Dean would listen to Sam talk about the colour of the sofa and the burnt tongue he'd gotten from drinking the chocolate before it cooled. Maybe dad would stay and they could play at being a family for a little while.
"We'll work it out." Jim said suddenly. Dean jumped a little. He hadn't heard Ben end the call, hadn't heard the room descend into silence.
"Yeah, and how will we be doing that, exactly?" Dean said without looking up.
"Something will come up." Jim sounded determined, as if he could force the answer through sheer willpower. "We'll find something."
Dean sat back on the bed, leaning his head against the wall. He could hear Jim flipping pages of some ancient book or the other in sharp violent gestures that sounded more like he was ripping them out rather than reading. Ben sat stiffly in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles were white. The tension was so thick Dean could almost smell it.
The rumble of a car driving into the parking lot outside startled them all, the flash of high-powered headlights casting a glow through the curtains.
Jim looked up from the book and frowned. "Who the hell would be driving around in this sort of weather? Idiot could have gone off the road if he hit a patch of ice."
Dean ignored the frustrated tone of the Pastor's voice, pretended it wasn't the second time Jim had blasphemed in as many days. They were both wound up too tight.
God, he wasn't used to this anymore. Hunting had been his life for as long as he could remember and he always thought it would be what eventually ended him. And he hadn't cared. Live fast, die young. Have as much sex as possible and leave with no regrets. Dean always thought he'd live longer out hunting than suffering through some dead-end suburban existence anyway, thought one month in a semi-detached with a station wagon out front and he'd be slitting his wrists out of sheer boredom.
But the last few months at Jim's, waking up and going to bed in the same place every night, having a weekly schedule and household chores to do, it hadn't been so bad. And he hadn't even realised until now how much he'd relaxed into it. It was quiet, sure, but he had Sam for excitement, Sam to keep him sane and happy and smiling every day.
The knock at the door make them all jerk; Jim and Dean on their feet in a flash. Ben was staring at the door with wild eyes, his body rigid in the chair.
"Is it her? God, it's her, isn't it, she's found me!"
Dean shot a sharp look at him and narrowed his eyes. "Christ, d'you think if it was her she'd knock? Now shut up." He bent to his bag and pulled out a gun. Ben whimpered at the sight of it.
"I thought you said it wasn't her!"
"Shut up, kid." Dean snapped without bothering to look at him.
The knock came again, hesitant this time.
Jim glanced over at Dean. His mouth was tight and he nodded once, stepping to one side of the entrance. Dean levelled the gun, aiming at chest-level. He took a long steadying breath, and then gestured to Jim to open the door. But before the Pastor could move, a voice called out.
"Dean? You in there?"
Dean blinked, arm falling to his side. Dad? Jim had dropped his own weapon on the table with a sharp intake of breath. Can't be…
Jim held a hand out as Dean strode to the door but he shrugged it away carelessly, heart beating fast. He threw it open wide, a cold gust of wind cutting through the thin shirt. He barely noticed.
"Dad?"
John turned around to face him, an uncertain smile pulling at his lips. "Hey son. I saw the Impala out front. What're you doing here?"
John sat on the edge of the bed nearest the door, his face in his hands. Dean was torn between wanting to hug the man and hit him.
His dad couldn't remember anything. He'd been gone for a week and he couldn't remember anything.
But, as Jim pointed out, at least there was one missing person to cross off the list. One down, one to go. The air of defeat that the Pastor had been so stubbornly denying entrance was gone, replaced with optimism. They'd find Sam, he said, or possibly Sam would find them. If whatever it was that took John let him go without any kind of fight, then maybe it would do the same for the youngest Winchester.
Dean wasn't so sure. And neither was John, from the look of things. He'd been eyeing Ben with distrust, despite Jim's reassurances. Strangely enough, John's unwillingness to share important information around Ben was bringing out the same defensive instincts Dean felt long ago whenever Sam would butt heads with their dad, like he should be the one to smooth everything over, calm everyone down and make sure they were all happy. It made him feel purposeful again, and faintly nostalgic. A tiny smile quirked at his lips.
Jim was going through all the information they had so far, passing John the notes and the catalogue of dead leads he'd written down. John took it, flicking through briefly was a frown on his face before putting it aside and turning to face Dean.
"Run it by me again." He said gruffly, meeting Dean's eyes. "Explain how exactly you could lose your brother in a diner, in the middle of the day."
Dean flushed and looked at his hands, the smile vanishing like it never was. He felt small and ashamed, hot with guilt for allowing himself the luxury of feeling anything other than desperate fear for his brother. He hunched on the other bed and resigned himself to being scolded like a naughty child.
"John, it wasn't Dean's fault." Jim pacified before John could say anything further. "I was there too, and I didn't see anything. This thing, whatever it is, it obviously knows what its doing."
John held his stare for a moment longer and Dean could feel his eyes boring into the top of his lowered head. Then the gaze was dropped with a heavy sigh. "You're right, Jim. I'm…I'm not blaming anyone. I just…" John trailed off, running his fingers through his hair. "Have you asked around? Maybe it wasn't anything supernatural that took him. He's not…right, in the head. Maybe he just wandered off."
The comment brought back the surge of anger that Dean had been pushing away. His head snapped up. "He didn't, dad! He knows not to do that!"
He hated it when people looked at Sam, stared at him while they were out grocery shopping or walking in the park, always with pity in their eyes. He knew it didn't bother his brother, not really. It bothered him, though, to hear women gossiping about the retarded boy, and wasn't it so nice of the Pastor to take him in. But a stranger calling Sam names behind his back was one thing, when their own father did it…
Dean stood abruptly. Ben, still silent in his corner and trying not to draw attention to himself, let out a tiny gasp.
"Dean…" Jim stood too, reaching a hand out to him.
"I'm gonna take the boy back home. He doesn't know anything, there's no point in keeping him here. You and dad can try to figure out what took Sam." Dean said, aiming an angry glance at John. "C'mon." He gestured roughly at Ben.
Ben got to his feet, keeping wary eyes on him like he was afraid Dean might flip out at any second.
"C'mon, kid, we don't have all day. You wanna go home or not?"
Ben nodded quickly, running for the door.
"Dean…" John said softly, imploring.
"Dad, if you're just gonna tell me how well I'm not taking care of Sam, then I don't need to hear it." He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. "I know, okay. I know, it's my fault and I should have done better."
"Dean, I wasn't going to say that."
Dean shook his head, blinking back tears. "I'm gonna take the boy home. I'll be back in half an hour."
The snow was falling heavily now, big thick clumps of it that whipped in Dean's eyes and caught in his eyelashes. The ground was slippery with trodden snow turned to ice, and he considered going back and asking to borrow one of the trucks rather than risking the Impala in this. As much as he loved his baby, she didn't handle well in harsh weather. But he'd said his piece and made his dramatic exit, pride battered and trailing somewhere behind him. He wasn't quite ready for another round with his dad just yet. He snorted, thinking of all the times it had been Sam running out of the motel room in a huff.
"Uh, are we going, like, now?" Ben's tentative voice brought Dean back to the present and he scowled instinctively.
"Yes, we're going now. Did you think we were gonna spend the night in the parking lot?" Dean waved in the direction of the car. "Get in."
Ben blinked, looking over the Impala. "This is your car?"
"Yeah. Sixty-seven Chevy Impala." Dean said, patting the snow-covered roof fondly. No matter how bad he was feeling, his car always made the burden seem a little lighter.
"Huh." Ben said, opening the door with a creak and sliding inside.
Dean climbed in and started the engine, flicking on the heater and the windscreen wipers. "What'd you mean, 'huh'?"
"Nothing. Just…it's kinda old, isn't it? And, uh, messy. Even my mom's car's not a messy as this, and I lose all my stuff in it. Couldn't you afford a new one?"
Dean's head flew up and he glared at Ben, ready to tear him a new one for daring to mock his car. But Ben was looking around the inside of the car with an expression of honest curiosity, mingled with a slight hint of disgust. Dean followed his gaze, and yeah, maybe he should think about clearing out the back seat one of these days.
"This car's a classic, kid. The age is kinda the whole point." He patted the dash lovingly. "Besides, it's great for gettin' girls."
Ben's eyes widened almost comically. "I thought you were a Pastor. Don't you have to promise not to, uh, do…that?"
"You mean sex? Well we're not really supposed to, but the message of the Lord is forgiveness for our sins, right?" Dean grinned as he pulled out of the parking lot, catching a glimpse of Ben's face turning red. "You should see some of the girls my friend Pastor Jim picks up."
The snow prevented Dean from going as fast as he'd have liked, but the low and steady rumble of the engine felt good under him. He stroked one hand along the top of the wheel. His car always knew how to comfort him.
"John, the boy's blaming himself for everything already, you didn't need to come in here accusing him." Jim was saying.
John nodded, face in his hands again. "I know, Jim. I don't know why I started in on him. I didn't mean to."
"He's been worried sick about you. We all have. And with Sam disappearing…" Jim went on, pacing the room. John sighed heavily.
The truth was, he knew exactly why he started arguing with Dean. He'd seen it in his son's eyes. Dean had opened the motel door after hearing his voice, naked hope emblazoned across his face. And he'd looked straight past John, like he was expecting someone else to appear out of the darkness.
He knew his boys were close. And he knew that as much as he might want to, he could never be a part of the bond they shared. It had always cut deep that Sam would run to Dean before he'd run to his dad. As a boy, if his youngest fell down and grazed his knee, it was Dean he called for through his tears. The stupid thing was it was John himself who had instilled the beginning of that bond in them, taught them the importance of together. He'd just never stopped to think that together might not include him.
Buthe still remembered once upon a time when Dean at least looked up to him. When he still felt reassured that at least his oldest son looked to him first and foremost, even if his youngest only had eyes for his big brother.
He hadn't meant to take his anger out on Dean, but it hurt that he was now so obviously a secondary concern to his son, his second-in-command. His own sense of shame was burned painfully into him the moment he saw the disappointment in Dean's eyes. He wasn't Sam, he hadn't brought Sam back to his brother. He didn't know where Sam was.
Missouri had told him that his boys loved him, that they'd always love him. And it was enough to know that, most of the time.
John sighed again. Jim had stopped talking, was watching him with eyes full of understanding. He huffed and turned to the books laid out on the table.
"Well, we should get to researching. What've you got so far?"
Ben was tapping his fingers on the dash. It was very annoying.
Dean shot a longing look at the tape deck, wishing to god he could turn it up loud and drown out everything. Maybe teach Ben what real music sounded like along the way. But the snow was falling steadily, propelled to the ground by a sharp wind, and he needed all his concentration to keep the car straight on the curving roads. He'd already come perilously close to spinning twice. He wished he'd swallowed what was left of his pride and asked his dad if he could take the truck. At least the truck had four-wheel drive.
"So, you're not really a Pastor, are you?" Ben said, breaking the silence between them.
"What gave me away?" Dean murmured distractedly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. He slowed to a crawl to take another corner, praying to the god of cars that his baby didn't get scratched by the outcropping of dead bushes on one side of the road.
Ben made a little victorious sound in the passenger seat, and Dean snorted under his breath. Like it had been that hard to figure out he wasn't a Pastor.
"So who are you? And who's the other guy? Are you, like, conmen or something?" The boy seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier fear of Dean in the excitement, and Dean gave momentary thought to reminding him of it.
Then another car flew past, travelling in the other direction and giving Dean a mild heart attack after seeing how close it came to his door, and he forgot about scaring the crap out of Ben.
Unfortunately Ben didn't seem to notice the death-defying miracles Dean was pulling off in the driver's seat.
"So was all that back at the motel just made up to scare me? God, is the redhead working for you? Is she like, the one you use to draw me in before you scam me? Are you scamming me right now?" Dean blinked as he caught up with what Ben was saying.
"Sorry kid, no scam. And the stuff at the motel, that was all real. The redhead too, unfortunately."
"…oh."
Ben was silent as Dean navigated another tricky patch of road. The Impala's gears grinded in protest as Dean tried to find a good purchase on the road, and he winced, promising to check the whole car over when all this was done with.
After manoeuvring through the stretch of snow, Dean realised Ben had fallen silent. He glanced over quickly.
The boy was shaking and pale, his eyes suspiciously wet. His nose was running too, and Dean threw a used Burger King napkin at him before it could drip on the seats. "Oh for Christ's sake, kid, calm down. Look," he pulled the car up to the side of the road, carefully putting on the handbrake. "I know it's hard to deal with. But I promise you, nothing's gonna happen to you. We'll take care of whatever it is, and then we'll disappear and you never have to think about it again. Okay?"
Ben blinked at him, eyes big. "You…you promise?"
Something churned in Dean's stomach like sour bile. What good were his promises? He'd made one to Sam, and look where it got them. But the boy was waiting, expectant on his answer. So he took a deep breath. "I promise."
Ben smiled, shaky and damp. "Th-thanks. Thank you."
A sudden beep of a horn sounded, making them both jump in their seats. Dean looked back to see an impatient Volkwagon with snow chains pulled up behind them. He cursed under his breath, waving it through and pulling back out behind it.
The chains were actually helpful, he discovered two minutes later as they picked up speed following in the Volkwagon's tracks, and he took back a few of the curses. Ben sat quietly in the passenger seat, sniffing loudly.
"Christ, kid, blow your nose."
"I don't have a tissue."
Dean glanced over at him. "What are you talking about, I just gave you one?"
"This?" Ben held up the napkin with a look of disgust. "It has ketchup on it."
Dean huffed. "Well look in the back then, your highness. I'm sure Sammy left some…" He cut himself off as a pang like a shard of glass caught him in the chest.
"Who's Sammy? You keep on talking about him?"
"It's Sam." Dean said shortly. "He's my brother. The…whatever this redhead is, she took him."
"Oh." Ben swallowed convulsively. "And…and that's why you're mad at me? 'Cause it-it was my fault she's here?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Dean said, not looking Ben's way.
Ben sat silently for a minute, and Dean thought maybe he'd scared the kid again without meaning to. Good, a spiteful part of him thought. Teach him to mess around with things he doesn't understand.
Another minute passed. Dean sighed heavily. "For fuck's sake. It's not your fault, kid. You didn't know. It was damn stupid of you," he said, shooting a look at him "but that doesn't make it your fault. Okay?"
Ben blinked at him, and Dean could see the fresh tears on his face.
"Seriously, kid, use a tissue. I don't want snot all over my car, thanks."
"O-okay." He nodded and tried to smile again before leaning over into the back seat. Dean listened to him rummaging around for a long moment before risking a glance back there himself.
"You find them?"
"Nope. Bet they're under the front seat, that's where all my stuff gets lost in my mom's car." Ben made a little a-ha noise, emerging with tissues in hand.
Dean frowned. "Huh. All your stuff gets lost in the car?"
Ben looked at him, confusion evident. "Uh, yeah usually, why?"
"Did you check, see if the redhead's ball was there?" Dean asked casually, trying to keep his eyes on the road and watch Ben at the same time.
The kid was looking sheepish. "No?"
Dean pasted on a wide fake smile. "D'you think maybe you should?"
Dean pulled up outside the Ellis house, turning off the ignition. Ben smiled hesitantly at him.
"I'll go and check the car, if you wanna wait here?"
Dean nodded, throwing an arm over the back of the bench seat. "Yeah. And be quick about it, kid, I'm freezing my balls off here."
Ben nodded and disappeared into the drifting snow. Dean could vaguely see the lights flash on in the house.
He let out a slow breath, trying not to get his hopes up. But if they had this goddamn ball, maybe they'd finally get somewhere in finding out what they're dealing with. And if worst came to worst, he'd at least have something to bargain for Sam with.
Ben reappeared at the passenger door, opening it and swinging back inside. Dean looked at him with barely concealed anxiety.
With a big grin, Ben held out his hand. Resting innocuously in his palm was a glowing glass ball the size of a grapefruit. "Found it."
