The Letter
Chapter 4 –
"Uh," Dean hedged; his mind frantically running scenarios for the best way to answer.
The older officer chuckled. "Okay, let's try something a little easier then… Do you know who owns that black car abandoned mid way down the lane?"
"Uh," Shit. Shit. Shit. "Is it an Impala?"
The men shared a look and again the older one spoke. "Chevy Impala. Four doors. License KAZ 2Y5."
Busted.
"Yeah, that's our car." The cops had probably already run the plates anyway.
"Good," the cop nodded as he regarded Dean like Dean was five instead of almost twelve, "So is your father here?"
"No." No real benefit to lying. "He's out."
"Does he always just leave his car in the middle of the road like that?"
Dean flicked a gaze to the younger man. So he could talk… John Winchester's son, through and through, the young hunter narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "It's our driveway, he can park it anyway he likes."
That garnered an amused look from both cops which totally pissed Dean off. They were obviously not taking him very seriously. "Is there a problem or can I go now?"
"No problem," the older guy said slowly, appraising Dean in a new light and the pre-teen decided he might want to drop the attitude before these guys found some reason for there to be a problem. That was the last thing he needed right now – a pissed off John Winchester.
"I'm sorry, officers." Contrite Dean threw in a remorseful look complete with Sammy patented puppy dog eyes – they were related, it should work right? "It's Christmas Eve and I should be in bed."
"Is your father on foot?" the younger guy pressed and Dean fought against saying 'duh'. Instead he just shrugged.
"He's not driving, that's all I know."
The cops exchanged a look and then the older one gave a slight nod. "Sorry to have bothered you… There's been a single vehicle accident west of here and we were kinda hoping the driver might have come here for help."
"No," Dean shook his head, his heart starting to pound as he thought about the possibility of his brother running into an injured stranger. And then he dismissed it. The gas station was east of their house. Sam had a good sense of direction so if he was going there to mail his letter, he shouldn't have come across the missing man. Of course, if his father was wrong about that –
"Okay, well then if you do see any one hanging around here that shouldn't be, please call 911. Good night young man and have a merry Christmas." The older cop turned to leave, his partner right behind him.
Dean chewed on his bottom lip and almost called after them. He wanted to tell them that his little brother was missing too. Instead he just shut the door, locked it and went back to pacing. His father had said he'd find Sammy – and Dean needed to believe him.
Stopping to stare at the little Christmas tree Dean let out a shaky breath, "Come home, Sammy," he whispered, "Please come home…"
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
Sam was cold and tired. He wanted so desperately to go to sleep and he didn't even fight the stranger any more. It was no use. He couldn't outrun the man in the snow but most importantly the man scared him. Terrified him. The way he smelled, the way he rambled and repeated himself, but mostly the way he looked at Sam and kept telling the little boy to sit still and not cause a fuss. It was like the man wasn't really seeing Sam but knew he was there.
And Sam's arm hurt.
The last time the man had grabbed him something bad had happened. His arm had hurt so badly, Sam had thrown up and then almost passed out from the pain. Now he could hardly move it and when he did, it hurt so much it made him cry.
'Winchesters don't cry', he told himself even as he sniffed hard and wished his Daddy was here or even Dean. Dean and the gun he'd started keeping under his pillow all the time. His brother didn't think Sam knew, but Sam knew a lot of things that Dean didn't think he did.
After Sam had gotten hurt the stranger had stopped moving them, instead insisting the child sit in the snow and make no sound which was fine with the kid since he was exhausted, hurting and cold. He couldn't even remember any more why he was out here.
"They're gonna come," the man rocked back and forth within grabbing distance of the little boy. Blood marred his face and ran down the side of his neck making him look even more scary. Wrapping an arm tightly around himself, the stranger continued to babble, "gonna take you away too… can't let that happen… can't be alone any more…" and then he stopped and looked at Sam, "You won't leave me, will you?" he pleaded, a half crazed look on his grotesque face. "Will you? You won't leave?"
He reached out to touch Sam and the child shivered and shied away, groaning in pain.
"Will you?" the stranger persisted, his voice odd sounding as if it was suddenly getting hard to breath.
The child closed his eyes and felt new wetness on his cold cheeks, too afraid to answer and just as afraid not to and then he heard the man cry out in pain.
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
Dear Mr. Santa Claus,
My name is Sam Winchester and I'm seven years old and all I want this Christmas is my Mommy back.
She died when I was a baby so I don't remember her but my Daddy and my big brother Dean do and they love her and miss her. It makes them sad a lot. I try to make them smile but it's real hard sometimes.
Dean says Winchester's ain't supposed to cry but I heard Daddy crying last night and I don't want him to be so sad anymore.
That's all. I don't need anything else but if you want to ask Tommy Watkins to stop saying mean things to me that would be nice too.
Love, Sammy Winchester
PS – don't mess up the salt line or else my Daddy is going to be really mad and I tried to leave you some cookies but my brother found them first. He's always hungry. Sorry.
John just stood there and stared at the letter. His hands shook and not from the cold. One single tear scalded his cheek. Oh God… His son's simple wish cut him to the soul.
Sam wanted Santa to bring Mary back. Not because Sam missed her but because Dean and John missed her.
…I heard Daddy crying last night… John closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He had never meant either of his sons to hear that.
Clutching the precious piece of paper tightly between his fingers, he cursed himself, humbled by the child's selfless request and by the depth of love the little boy had for them. 'I'm sorry.' He finally understood. Now. "God – damnit all to hell, I'm so, so sorry…"
Swallowing hard, the hunter opened his eyes and blinked the wetness from them. He had to find Sam.
Glancing around, John's face hardened. He saw his son's tracks… and someone else's.
Shit.
Stealthily the hunter moved quickly through the brush as he followed the trail the falling snow threatened to hide. Anger coursed through his veins setting his jaw in a hard line and his every instinct coiled and ready to act. There'd be hell to pay if anyone hurt his son.
'Hang on, Sammy, Daddy's coming.'
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
Sam watched with wide eyes as the stranger dropped to his knees, doubled over and vomited. The snow turned red.
"Help," the man gasped between bouts of painful heaving, "Help… me…"
Terrified the child pushed himself back to his feet. He was afraid of the stranger and his arm hurt but the man sounded so – so scared. The little boy wasn't used to adults being afraid. His daddy was never afraid of anything!
And suddenly the stranger didn't look so threatening anymore.
"Mister?" Sam whispered as he glanced around unsure what to do. He had no idea where they were and couldn't remember which way the man had brought him. The sound of retching made him look down just in time to see the stranger collapse into the snow. Panicking the little hunter did the only thing he could think of, he yelled for his father.
"DADDY! DADDDDYYY!!!"
…
John cursed the deep snow as he struggled through it, he knew he wasn't far behind Sam but every moment was a moment too long.
He had just cleared a small grove of trees when he heard his son's terrified voice.
"DADDY! DADDDDYYY!!!"
Suddenly the snow was no longer an obstacle as the hunter ate up the distance between him and his distressed child, almost stumbling over the prone stranger face down in the snow. What the -?
"Daddy!"
He barely had time to register Sam before the little boy was throwing himself at John, burying his face in his father's jacket and alternating between sobbing and gasping in pain.
"Sammy?" John wrapped his arms around the small, shaking body, holding his boy tightly to him for a moment before pushing the child away so he could see what was hurting. "Sammy? Are you okay, son?"
"My arm," the little boy whimpered. "My arm hurts!"
John saw the way one shoulder drooped lower then the other and carefully pulled the child back into an embrace. He was pretty certain the shoulder was dislocated and then his face darkened with anger. Someone had hurt his child. He turned to look at the downed man.
Sam struggled slightly and the hunter let him go. "Daddy," his son's voice tore warmth through his anger, "you need to help him! He's hurt."
John stared down at his son in disbelief. "Didn't he hurt you?"
The child glanced at the unconscious man and slowly nodded his head. A heavy shiver ran through the seven year old and John kicked himself for not bringing a blanket from the Impala. He quickly shrugged out of his coat; the heavy woolen cardigan he was wearing underneath it would keep him warm enough for now. "Yeah… but – but he's sick! We can't leave him, Daddy, we can't." John was stunned by the depth of the child's compassion. "It's Christmas, we have to help him!"
The hunter took a deep breath to steady his soul. He gave his son a weak nod. "Okay, Sammy, but first we help you…"
Sam stared at him in confusion.
"Your arm, Sammy, I need to fix it first." John didn't look forward to putting the joint back in place, especially in a child as small as Sam, but it was still a fair trek back to the road and he was worried about permanent nerve damage if he prolonged treating it.
The little boy's eyes widened, "Is it going to hurt?"
John opened his mouth to say it wouldn't but then settled on the truth. He just couldn't find it in himself right now to lie. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he apologized, "it will, but it'll feel a whole lot better afterwards." He quickly added when he saw the open panic on Sam's face. "And then we'll get you and him out of here, okay?" He glanced at the unconscious man. 'His lungs sound compromised, what the hell's going on?'
The child sighed wearily and then nodded. "Okay, Daddy." Sam's eyes shone as he looked up at his father, "I'm sorry for going out."
The weight of the Santa letter pressed against John and he gave his son's good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about this later, Sammy. Let's just get you home first before Dean finds my secret stash of M&M's and OD's on sugar."
They both new Hyper Dean was never a pretty sight.
…
Relief lightened the child's face and Sam smiled. His Daddy was here and he'd make everything better –
And then he remembered his letter to Santa Claus. His face fell. He'd lost it when the stranger grabbed him. Now he'd never get his wish for sure.
TBC
