Thank you everyone for your kind reviews! Again this story is for TraSan! And I have to thank my wonderful beta, Red Hardy!
The Letter
Chapter 5 –
Sam slowly trudged along behind his father as they made their way back to the road. His shoulder still throbbed painfully, even after his father had reset it and then used his own belt to support Sam's arm so it wouldn't pull on the abused muscles. The little boy licked the blood from his lip as he shivered and remembered the pain. His father had been right about it going to hurt. John had been quick but still the pain had been blinding and Sam had put his teeth through his bottom lip before it was done.
He really wished Dean were here. His brother just had this way of making things better.
'All in all', the little boy thought miserably, 'this is turning out to be the worse Christmas ever.'
"Keep up, Sam," John barked out, sounding slightly breathless as he struggled through the snow, encumbered with carrying the other man. The stranger groaned but didn't regain consciousness.
Sam tried to go faster but he was quickly succumbing to the cold, his pain and weariness. He wished he were still little enough to be carried, not that his father could carry him now anyways.
His mind began to wander…
'Does Santa hear our prayers? I could pray to him. Then he'd know for sure what I want –'
He sighed. 'No, stupid. Santa was magic. Not God.'
'What was Christmas like when Dean was little? I bet he had a really big tree and probably got lots of presents –'
He sniffled, his feet beginning to drag.
'I wish we could have that now…'
Something tightened in his chest.
'Why did Mommy have to die?'
"Sammy?" His father's voice right next to him startled the child. He hadn't even noticed that John had stopped and was now standing right in front of him. "Son?" Worry darkened his father's eyes and Sam felt his own water. He didn't want to make his daddy worry or see him sad. This was Christmas. This was supposed to be the best time of the year – that's what everyone on television said.
"I'm tired, Daddy," Sam mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to go home now."
His father nodded, "Me too, buddy," he admitted and then glanced in the direction they needed to go. "We're almost there though. Just a little bit further and you'll have Dean fussing over you." He paused for a moment and then looked back at Sam, "Can you make it?"
Sam was surprised by the question. His father never asked, he told.
John lifted an eyebrow, "Sam? You still with me?"
The little boy nodded tiredly. There really wasn't a choice. His father couldn't carry them both, as much as Sam wanted him too. "Yes, sir." He wasn't sure he'd even spoken the words until he felt his father brush his face and then coax him forward with his hand.
"C'mon, son, we're almost there."
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
"Dad!" Dean was halfway out of the cabin and down the steps as soon as he heard the familiar grumble of the Impala. 'Please let him have, Sammy, please!'
Refusing to stop there, the boy slipped and slid his way down the lane towards the approaching car, his youthful form lit up by the headlights briefly before his father yanked the car hard to the side and slammed on the brakes.
"Dean! What the hell –?"
Dean didn't care that his father was pissed at him as he ran the last few steps to the car and yanked the passenger door open it. 'Sammy's got to be there! He's just go to!' The young hunter jumped back when a large and bloodied man almost fell out.
"God-damnit!" John barked, "Close the door!"
The stunned boy did. What was going on? Where was Sam??
"Get in the back with your brother -" the man growled, "Now, Dean!"
Dean didn't have to be told twice.
"Sammy?" he whispered getting his first look at the little boy in two hours.
Red-rimmed hazel eyes turned towards him and Dean sucked in his breath. Sam looked terrible.
"D-Dad?" Dean's voice trembled as he quickly took in the bloodied lip and makeshift sling. He wanted to reach out and touch his brother but he was afraid he might hurt him more. The little boy looked ready to break.
"He's okay, Dean," John seemed to understand. "Dislocated his shoulder and he's a bit cold, but he'll be okay. Now shut the door, we gotta go."
The older boy slammed the door as he slid across the seat. He had so many questions but recognized his father's 'need-to-know' tone, and apparently Dean didn't need to know. Not yet.
Sobbing something that sounded like 'Dean', Sam burrowed against him, pressing his good shoulder against Dean's chest. Instantly Dean wrapped his arms around the little boy, shocked by the shivers that raced through Sam's body. His brother felt like a Popsicle.
"He's real cold, Dad," Dean said quietly wishing he'd grabbed his own coat before bolting out the door. Heck, he was lucky he'd put boots on. Sam pressed in closer and closed his eyes.
Flicking his eyes up to the rearview mirror, John caught Dean's eye. "Don't let him go to sleep." And then notched the heater up a bit more.
Immediately Dean jostled his brother carefully, "Hey, Sammy, you heard Dad, no night-night time for you." Hazel eyes opened with reluctance and then scowled at him; the eleven year old thought it was the most beautiful look in the world. He grinned. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it?"
"M'tired, Dean," Sam slurred. "Can w'go 'ome now?"
"Not yet, Sammy," John answered for his older son, "we need to get this guy to a hospital. And I want someone to take a look at that arm while we're there."
Sam sighed and leaned his full weight against his brother. Dean cast a worried glance over his sibling wishing he could see how bad the arm was for himself, not that he didn't trust his father, but he just felt responsible for all things 'Sammy.' And he hated seeing his brother hurt.
"But it's Chris'mas," Dean heard the tears in his brother's voice, "I w'nt go 'ome."
"Sam," their father's voice held a note of warning and Dean quietly tried to shush his brother.
"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered, his brother's hair tickling his nose as he pressed his mouth close to the little boy's ear, "we'll be home long before Santa!" Instead of comforting the younger child, Sam turned his face into Dean's chest and began sobbing in earnest.
Confused and scared by this very un-Sam like behavior Dean didn't know what to do so he just wrapped his arms more tightly around Sam and wished the hospital into sight.
ooooooOOOOOOoooooo
John Winchester sat hunched over in the straight-backed hospital waiting room chair, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands; some stranger's blood was on his clothes and the memory of his son's painfilled scream echoed through his mind. Relocating that tiny shoulder had been one of the emotionally hardest things he'd ever done. I'm supposed to protect him, not hurt him… Sitting beside him, his eleven year old fidgeted in his seat, chewed at his thumbnail and swung his feet in agitation.
"Stop it, Dean," the hunter growled when he couldn't take the motion any more. It was two a.m. on Christmas and his children should have been home in their beds not here. 'Home,' he mentally scoffed, 'as if that pathetic little backwoods cabin is any kind of home.' Bitterness burned in the back of his throat as he thought of the scrawny little Christmas tree and meager presents waiting for them.
This wasn't the life he wanted for his sons.
Dean stopped moving and sighed loudly instead. John closed his eyes, his body tense when the next sigh came, not thirty seconds later.
Two policemen striding into the waiting room had the hunter sitting up slowly. The men spoke to the nurse on duty and she cast a glance towards him. John had been expecting this but he still didn't like it. Law enforcement had done very little good for him.
The police approached him.
"Dad," Dean's voice was quiet. "They came to the cabin when you were looking for Sammy… said someone had an accident and they were looking for the driver."
John nodded and then stood to greet the officers.
"Mr. Winchester?" the older one addressed him, "I'm Officer Micheals and this is Officer Roberts, can we have a word with you," the man gave Dean a condescending look before he finished, "in private?"
The hunter stiffened. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "He can stay."
"Are you sure?" the man pressed.
John let his hand drop as he repeated. "He stays."
The cops exchanged a look and then shrugged, "Okay, it's your call." He flipped open a note pad. The hunter rolled his eyes, 'really, how stereotypical?' "We understand that you found the victim wandering around on your property and brought him here. Is that correct?"
John nodded. "Sounds about right."
Again the cops exchanged a look and this time the younger one spoke, "Do you mind me asking what you were doing out at this hour?"
"Yes I do," the hunter kept his gaze leveled at the police. His family was none of their business.
"Okay then," the younger one drawled and then fixed John with a piercing look, "do you mind telling me what happened to your son's arm?"
John stiffened. Okay so this was how they wanted to play it. "Why don't you ask your 'victim'? He's the one who hurt my son."
The older cop shook his head. "That's not possible. The 'victim' is known to us, and I can assure you, he isn't violent."
"Possible or not," the hunter growled, he shifted slightly to put himself between these men and Dean. "it happened. He grabbed my boy and dragged him into the brush for God only knows what. That guy should consider himself lucky that he was already out cold when I found him!" Anger seethed through every pore in John's body. These cops were dicks!
"He was probably confused," a new voice supplied from behind John and he quickly whirled around, pushing Dean behind him once again, as he moved. A young woman with a white coat approached them and John recognized her as one of the attending physicians. "I'm not his doctor so I can't really comment on his condition but I can tell you he was intoxicated, compounded with a severe concussion and internal injuries, I'm pretty sure he had no idea about what he was doing. Thankfully, though, you found him. And if help had been delayed for much longer… well, let's just say it would have been a very different Christmas for him."
The police nodded, seemingly in agreement with her and for some reason that just really pissed the hunter off. How dare they forget the real victim in all this?
"What about my son?" John demanded. Dean edged closer, anxious and young looking. "Any news on Sam?"
"Your son is doing just fine." She assured them with a smile. "He's just being brought down from radiology and things look good. The shoulder is sitting very nicely back in the socket and I'm confident that with proper restraint and limited activities for the next couple of weeks, Sam will bounce back in no time at all… You can see him just as soon as we get him settled."
"Settled?" John heard the barely contained panic in his son's voice. "What do you mean settled? He's not staying here! It's Christmas! He needs to be home… with us."
"We would like to keep him overnight," the physician started. John cut her off. That wasn't happening.
"He's not staying." John's tone brooked no nonsense. "Give me discharge instructions and pain killers for him. I was a medic in the Panama," he had no trouble lying to her, "and I can read… No son of mine is going to wake up Christmas morning in a hospital bed. Not if I can help it."
The woman opened her mouth to argue but Dean spoke first. "Please, don't make him stay here. You don't know Sammy, he needs to be with us. He needs to be home! Please… me and my Dad we can take care of him. We always do!"
John watched the doctor. How could she possibly say no?
He knew they had won when the woman exhaled loudly. He grinned and clasped Dean proudly on the back when she walked away muttering something about being a big softy and that they'd better take care of that kid or else she'd personally make sure Santa put something nasty in John's stocking.
The older cop nodded at Dean. "You're a very lucky man." He commented, "Two good kids – that poor bastard in there," he tipped his head towards the ER, "the guy you found? He lost his wife and two children last year in a car accident." He glanced at his partner. "Me and Donny, there, we pulled him from the wreckage. There was nothing we could do for his family… He's not been the same since." John gaped at the officer. "Anyways, you take your boys home and have a great Christmas… Good night." And then they closed their little notebooks and left.
Swallowing hard, John looked down at Dean. His fingers moved into his coat pocket and curled around the wrinkled envelope. The cop was right. He was a lucky man…
And it was high time he remembered that. At least for one day.
TBC
