Sorry about that cliffie, guys, but here is the next chapter! MERRY CHRISTMAS!
The Letter
Chapter 3 –
"Sammy's missing!" Dean burst out before his father had even stepped inside. "I woke up and he was gone! I looked everywhere but he's just gone. Gone!" the eleven year old breathed out in near hysteria.
John just stared at him in shock. What the hell-?
"I didn't hear him! I don't know why, but I just didn't hear him!" Dean continued to beat himself up. "I should have – I -"
"Dean", John barked, his sharp tone stilling the almost vibrating pre-teen instantly. He didn't have time for this. "What do you mean gone?" He looked to the side where one pair of thread bare boots rested and then back at his son. "Did he take his coat too?"
The young hunter spun as he quickly glanced around the room. "Yes, sir," he nodded and swallowed hard, his young face guilt paled and grief-stricken. He took looking after Sammy very seriously. "Coat's gone."
"Shit," John sighed. He so did not need this tonight. Damn it Sammy, I was gone twenty minutes. Twenty freakin' minutes! "Where the hell would he go?" he growled angrily, seriously contemplating tethering the kid to his bed once they got him back. Dean opened his mouth but John shook his head.
The why wasn't as important – he'd get that out of Sam later – but then his eyes lit on the open page of his journal and suddenly he just knew. The why was everything… "Shit," he repeated under his breath. That damn letter.
"Dad?" Dean pressed uncertainly. The youngster was watching him with an unusual inventiveness and John knew his boy was looking for him to fix this. To bring his little brother home. Sometimes it sucked being a super hero…
The man scrubbed his face in agitation. "His Santa letter. He's gone to mail that damn thing!"
The eleven year old's eyes went wide; his gaze darted towards the door. "But didn't you -" his words cut off abruptly and he shifted uncomfortably. John glared at him and then growled,
"I didn't mail it, okay?" It came out a lot harsher than John had intended and a wide–eyed Dean took a step back. The man closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. It wasn't Dean, or even Sam for that matter, that he was angry with. He should have never lied to Sam about that letter. Hell, he should have just mailed it like he was supposed to. Instead he screwed up. He misjudged just how much this meant to Sam and now Sam was missing. Again, John wondered for a moment what was so important in that letter. In a lighter tone, he tipped his head towards the door, "Look, its not you I'm angry with so just get your boots, I'll need an extra set of eyes on the side of the road… You know your brother, he can be a tricky little bugger if he doesn't want to be found."
"Yeah," Dean admitted as he scrambled to pull on his boots and coat. It was hard to miss the underlying note of pride in the kid's voice, "We trained him good, didn't we?"
"Too good apparently," the hunter admitted dryly. "He got out without you knowing…" he paused and then added, "You're slipping, Dean." He meant it as a tease but the spark of something that passed through the hazel eyes told him he might have missed his mark. John sighed, some day he'd get this right. This just wasn't that day. He yanked open the door, "Let's go."
At the foot of the stairs the hunter crouched down and ran an appraising eye over the snow, searching for size 4 footprints. The kid had deceptively large feet given his rather slight frame making the man speculate that Sam was going to be tall. Maybe even taller then me or Dean… Now wouldn't that be something?
Quickly finding the tracks, John started to follow on foot, motioning for Dean to stay behind him so the older boy wouldn't inadvertently disturb the trail. He'd trained Dean better than that, but right now the kid was preoccupied, letting his worry get the better of his head.
"Dad?" Dean's voice was a mere whisper behind him when John stopped and stared at the side of the road. His skillful gaze quickly discerned what Sam must have done as he saw the obvious trail from the road and back again. The part of John that wasn't the worried father was proud of the boy's quick thinking. The other part though was seriously pissed. Sam must have seen him and hidden from him on purpose. At this rate, the irate father mentally scowled, it won't matter how big the kid's feet are, he's never going to make it to a teenager. I'm going to kill him first!
"Back to the car, Dean," he barked as an icy chill worked its way through his jacket. "Your brother waited until I passed and then took off. C'mon, I think I knew where he's heading."
Damn that letter…
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
Sam struggled against the powerful grip on his arm as he was dragged further into the brush and away from the road. He opened his mouth to scream for help and was harshly shaken. "Shut up! You don't want them to hear us, do you?!" Hot spittle stung his cheeks as a bloodied face loomed terrifyingly close. "Do you???!"
The stranger reeked of alcohol and Sam's fear spiked. No! No! He managed a half cry before he was yanked close to the larger body and a cold hand clamped over his mouth. Hard. Terrified, the little boy squirmed and kicked desperately but his attacker only grunted and held tighter, moving them further into the woods, further away from Sam's family.
Daddy!
"Can't let them find us," the man muttered as he stumbled for a moment in the snow then rapidly regained his footing and kept moving, "Can't… can't let them get me… can't let them get you!"
Sam's teeth found the edge of the man's hand and the boy bit down. Immediately he was dropped into knee deep snow as the stranger yelled out in pain. "God - damnit!"
Scrambling to his feet, the child tried to run but couldn't. The snow was too deep and he flailed for a moment before the man recovered and grabbed at his arm again.
"DADDY!!" Sam screamed as he fell back and rolled just out of reach. "DEAN!!!"
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
John drove slowly, his eyes scanning along side the road looking for his missing son. Beside him, Dean had his own window all the way down and his sleep tousled head was all the way out the window as he yelled, "Sam? Sammy?" every couple of feet, ever hopeful that Sam would hear and step out in front of them.
They got all the way to the gas station and back again before Dean finally spoke to John, his face chalk white with worry and his voice sounding very young and scared. It tore at John, "Dad, where is he?" It was a brutal reminder just how young both his boys were – Dean is only eleven for cripes sake – and just what kind of responsibility he placed on those shoulders every day. It wasn't fair but he didn't know what else to do… The world he trusted in was very small and limited to only a few choice individuals, his young sons being the majority.
'After I find your killer, Mary, I'll set it right for them… I promise.'
He forced conviction into his voice, unwilling to further burden Dean with his father's own uncertainty knowing that the young hunter blamed himself enough as it was. It was the least he could do. "We'll find him, Dean."
"But -" the boy hedged, his gaze luminescent as it burned through John, "but what if we don't?"
John couldn't continue to meet that gaze. He turned his eyes back out front and then sighed. "I don't know, Dean… I really don't know…" But deep down he wasn't sure either of them could survive another loss.
'C'mon, Sammy… give me something to work with, son, anything…'
Parking in front of the cabin again, John got out and hurried back inside. "Sam?" he bellowed hoping the child had come to his senses and returned on his own. The hunter paused when he took in the threadbare little tree Dean had stuck up in the corner yesterday. He walked towards it and touched one of the green boughs.
A wistful smile tugged at his lips as John remembered how proud Dean had been when he'd lugged the sad looking thing inside. The boy had picked it out and chopped it down himself. Thank God he hadn't found the chainsaw in the trunk! It was Dean's gift to his little brother.
John pulled his hand back as if it had been burned. So very different from the trees we used to have…
A lump formed in the back of John's throat as he looked over the sparse decorations. Fingering one of the star shaped newspaper ornaments that Sam had made himself, his eyes burned. The little boy had labored over each one, fussing as he traced them and then cut them out, refusing to let any one else help. Insisting he was doing it for them. Oh God, John felt sick; they were Mary's children. There was just so much of his wife in them… and it stole his breath away.
Their Christmas tree was so pathetic, so lacking, and yet so perfect. She would have been proud.
Blinking hard, the man gave one more glance around the empty cabin and then hurried outside. He had a son to find.
"Wait here," he ordered Dean as he opened the front passenger door and indicated that the boy get out. Seeing the mutinous look on his son's face, John added, "in case he comes back. I don't want him going back out looking for us."
Dean didn't look too thrilled but he got out of the car anyway.
The hunter moved around the front of the car to the driver's side door but then stopped and called after his sulking son, "Dean?" Dean turned to look back at him. "Good job with the tree, son." And then John was in the car and pulling away from the cabin before the boy had a chance to respond. He couldn't help but smile though at the pleased look he'd glimpsed on the eleven year old's face just before the man had pulled away… sometimes he forgot how very little it took to get that look.
How the hell could I ever forget?
John drove back down the lane towards the road. He stopped at the spot where he knew Sam had been and got out, grabbing a heavy flashlight and cursing his earlier decision to just go to where he thought the child was going to be, instead of tracking him there. But the night was cold and he had been so sure Sam would be at the gas station mailing that damn letter or, at the very least somewhere in between, he'd let his own emotions get in way of his better judgment. So now the man cursed himself for the lost time and what it might mean to his missing child.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he muttered as he moved quickly along the roadside. His son's tracks were getting harder to follow now but John persisted on. 'Mary, baby,' his mind whispered as the temperature dipped a bit further and the first snowflakes of an impending storm started, 'if you're up there somewhere… we really could use your help…' He fought down a surge of panic at the idea that he wouldn't find Sam or that he'd be too late when he did. 'I really could use your help here – it's our baby, Mary… your baby… please, I gotta find him. Please…'
And then a piece of paper fluttered in the snow just in front of him and John bent down to pick it up.
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
Dean paced in the small living room, frustrated at being left behind. He wanted to be out there with his father looking for his brother. He needed to be there when Sammy was found. He just needed to be!
He still couldn't believe the little twerp had gotten out of the bed without him knowing, let alone getting out of the whole damn cabin! And once they got Sam back, and he knew the kid was all right, Dean intended on ripping him a new one about that. What was the kid thinking? He's only seven years old for Pete's sake!
Hurt slipped in between anger and fear. Why didn't Sam wake him up?
The sound of a car pulling up outside sent the pre-teen rushing to the door and yanking it open before it even registered that the engine he'd heard wasn't the Impala.
It was a police cruiser.
Shit!
Two heavy set cops crunched the snow beneath their feet as they headed towards the door. The older one saw Dean before he could shut the door, "Hey, kid," he called out, "Is your father home?"
Dean paled. Oh,crap. Christmas crap…
TBC -
