Author: Mirrordance

Title: Less Traveled By

Summary: High school is hard enough without an absentee father, restless spirits, haunted cars, a missing classmate and a sexual predator on the loose. Then again, the Winchesters never did anything the easy way. Dean is 17 and Sam is 13.

Hi guys,

First off, massive thanks to all who read, alert-ed, favorit-ed and especially all who reviewed the first chapter of my current effort, Less Traveled By. More comprehensive review responses should make their ways into your respective mailboxes in the next few days, but I thought I'd get this out here as the first sign of my gratitude. Thank you so much for taking the time to read... as always, your c & c's are welcome and I always, always look forward to hearing your thoughts :) Without further ado, Chapter 2 of Less Traveled By:

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Less Traveled By

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2: One of those Calls

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1997

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Dean was still screaming for his brother when they rolled Sam's stretcher into the emergency room. It was still as desperate, but the ragged voice was weakening as its owner lost steam.

"Just tell me," he was begging, "Is he even alive? Please..."

"He doesn't quit, does he," Dulles murmured, as she led Sam's team into the curtained partition parallel to where Dean was. She pulled the curtain that separated the rooms aside, saying, "Stand aside, people, give him a view of his brother."

Dean was lying flat on a raised hospital bed, still restrained to a board. Sam could see his chest rising and falling, just about the only part of him that could move, aside from the clawed hands at his sides and the head the medical personnel had freed enough so that he could turn a little bit and face Sam. His watery eyes dulled in relief, and Sam breathlessly held his older brother's gaze.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam assured him in his strongest voice, "You gotta let them take care of you right now."

Dean gulped back a gasp, and blinked like he was trying to clear his vision, or make sure that the sight of Sam was real, "I'm kinda... I'm kinda confused..."

"You hit your head," Sam explained patiently, "So things are not gonna make a lot of sense for awhile. But I'm fine, okay? You can stand down. Will you remember that?"

"I remember..." Dean murmured, and his eyes started to flutter, "I remember you on the ground, and... and you weren't moving..."

"I was out for awhile but-"

"Was dad in the car?" Dean asked, blinking awake suddenly, and straining as if making an effort to stand.

"Dad's out of town, Dean," Sam told him carefully, noting that the machine tracking his brother's heartbeats showed his pulse pick up, "It was just you and me in the car, and we both made it out all right."

The medical personnel started working around them again, but pointedly made sure Dean had a clear view of his kid brother.

"I thought you were dead," Dean went on, "Dad... dad woulda had my head for that."

"That's it?" Sam teased him gently, "You wouldn't have missed me a little?"

The coaxing did its job, as it almost always did with Dean. It earned Sam a small smile, "I guess I would have," Dean told him, voice thin and weary, "M-maybe...maybe a little."

"Well I'm fine," Sam assured him, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm kinda... I'm kinda confused," Dean murmured again, his eyes drifting and taking on a sheen that was shielding him away from Sam, making the younger Winchester nervous.

It was Sam's turn to bark out his name, and at the absence of a response, he turned to the nurse attending to him, "Should he be falling asleep?"

"Doctor?" the nurse inquired quietly, of the man who was examining Dean's injuries.

"Dean!" Sam yelled at his brother, impatient for an answer, and really, longing only for the one from his brother.

He wasn't the only one, though, and there was some commotion around Dean's bed when two men in suits – detectives by the entitled air and the determined faces, Sam guessed – bullied their way into the area.

"Excuse me?" Dean's doctor said indignantly, "Gentlemen, this area is off-"

"Need to talk to the kid," one of the cops said.

"Dean Winchester is not in any condition to-"

"You know this case, doc?" the cop snapped, "Winchester got into an accident while chasing after a car that had a sixteen-year-old girl named Annie Huntington stashed inside the fucking trunk. We got the girl but that driver got away and Dean here, he saw what kind of car it was, what plates and god knows what else. We gotta talk to him."

"Like I said," the doctor insisted, "He is in no condition to-"

"The girl they just rescued is hysterical," the other detective piped in, "I talked to her a couple of minutes ago. She's freaking the fuck out 'cos she said there was someone else inside the trunk with her."

"That perp is still out there," the first detective insisted, "And there's another girl left inside his goddamn trunk. He knows we're onto him - what do you think he's gonna do to the other one, huh? You do the math."

The doctor bit his lip in thought and said, "You got two minutes."

The detectives took what they could. The medical people gave them some room, and one of them leaned over Dean and his voice turned suddenly gentle. It reminded Sam that easy as it was to forget, people would look at them and still see a bunch of kids.

"Dean?" the first detective called out quietly, "Hey, you with me? I'm Lieutenant Vaughn, this is my partner Diamond. I just need to ask you a few questions."

Dean's brows furrowed, and his eyes blinked vigorously in an effort to be more aware. His breathing picked up, and Sam noted that this time, both he and the doctor looked at the stats on the machines over Dean's head worriedly.

"I wasn't drunk," Dean said, voice thin and wavering, "Following... all... all the rules, I was careful... 'cos Sam, he was sitting up front."

Vaughn frowned in confusion, glanced at Sam, and then looked back down at Dean with more comprehension, "The accident wasn't your fault, Dean, and your brother's fine. I need to talk to you about something else. You were following a car, right? You were following a car because that driver was keeping a girl inside the trunk."

Dean's eyes blinked even more furiously, and his breaths were making him sound like a chugging train, "There was..." he gasped, closed his eyes at a wave of pain in his head, "There was a car accident and... and – Sam!"

"I'm here," Sam said immediately, catching the detectives' eyes again, "Dean, I'm here, I'm fine."

"The car," Vaughn said edgily, looking like he was starting to come to the realization that his investigation would be coming to a standstill with his amnesiac witness, "The car you were following, Dean, you gotta focus. What do you remember about it?"

"Car..." Dean murmured, eyes going aimless again, drifting up to the ceiling, losing focus. His body jerked, making the detectives leaning over him jump in surprise as he exclaimed, "Sam!"

"Dean..." Sam called out, and his own voice was wavering now, both in weariness and in blinding worry, "Dean, damn it, I'm fine!"

"What's wrong with him?" Diamond asked the doctor.

"Hit his head," the doctor replied tersely, and shoved the detectives aside when Dean started to make even more agitated movements. His breath came in loud, inadequate puffs, and his body writhed in anxiety, "Short-term memory's shot to hell, I'm afraid."

"Dad," Dean moaned, turning his head heavily from side to side, "I'm so sorry..."

"I'd say your two minutes are up, boys," the doctor said, "Now I need some room to take care of my patient."

Naturally, they moved on to Sam next.

They asked him the same things they had asked Dean, as Sam's own doctors and nurses worked on him. He was worried about Dean but was otherwise calm and managed to communicate well. He told them as much as he had told Dulles.

"I didn't see the plates," he said, "By the time I turned to look at the car, the hood of the trunk was popped, and the girl was on the ground. It all happened so fast."

"It all happened in less than a minute," Diamond told him, "From the the time you made the 911 call 'til your car crashed. You boys acted fast, saved that girl's life. But now you have the chance to save someone else, Sam. Annie is insisting there was someone else - another girl - inside the trunk with her. You remember seeing anything like that?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, "All I know is that the trunk was open, the girl was on the road, and then Dean swerved to keep from hitting her. I didn't see anyone else or anything else. Like I said – it was everything happening at the same time, too fast. Didn't... didn't the other drivers see anything? There were other cars on the road."

"What they looked at more was a speeding, black '67 Impala weaving past everyone," Vaughn said, "Can't say as I blame 'em; that thing is cherry, if I may say so myself. But then again, that doesn't take me anywhere on this case."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, "I wish I could help you more. Dean was gonna tell me the plates just before we crashed. But... well..." his eyes drifted over to his brother, who'd fallen silent. His eyes were half open, looking up at god knew what on the ceiling. His breathing seemed easier, and his body was pliant now. Sam suspected he'd been given something.

"Yeah," Vaughn winced, looking at Dean too, "I guess that's it for now, Sam. But you'll be seeing a lot of us in the next few. Gonna keep coming back and maybe when your brother gets better, he'll be able to tell us more. In the meantime, I'm shaking up the other witnesses on the road. You're absolutely right, someone had to have seen something we could use."

"Why would anyone kidnap Annie?" Sam asked.

Diamond's brows rose in surprise, "That's tricky too. The family's loaded so it could be kidnapping for ransom, but then if there's another girl with the same profile... we can be looking at a sexual predator. You seem like a smart kid, Sam, I'm sure we don't have to tell you that anything at all that you or your brother can remember can really help."

"We'll let your doctors work," Vaughn finished.

"Good luck, Detectives," Sam said, "Oh hey, you have any idea how my brother's car is doing? It's the first thing he'll ask about when he starts to feel better."

"I'd say it's the second thing he asks about," Vaughn told him pointedly, "But your brother's car is fine, Sam. A little bit of a fix-up, naturally, but tell him to focus on healing up, all right? It was a good, heroic thing, what you boys did. Just focus on getting better, and we'll get the bastard who's behind all this soon enough."

It was one of those phone calls a father is never ready to get.

John was used to receiving calls from unregistered numbers; people in trouble who got his name from someone else, a fellow-hunter covering up his tracks with another new phone, informants, and so on. A hospital though... that's a kick in the gut.

The very moment the calm voice introduced himself as "Dr. Bradley" and mentioned "Ashland Midway Memorial"already had him jogging for his car. "Your sons" and "Car accident" had him flooring the gas, tempting his own fate, as he sped down the long road home.

"I'll be there in about five hours," he said tersely, "What happened?"

His heart thundered in his ears and he felt vaguely nauseated, stomach in knots. He'd was worried about the hunt he was doing alone, worried about not having left his sons enough money, worried about teenagers being teenagers, and worried about where to get the money to feed them. Life kept throwing him goddamn curveballs, and now here he was, saddled with that one thing that hadn't crossed his mind. Car accident...

"A detective will be contacting you about more details on the incident itself, Mr. Winchester," Bradley said, "The most I can speak of is their medical condition."

"Are they..." he bit on alive, "Awake? Can I talk to Dean?"

The doctor took a breath to speak, and John's gut tightened all the more. He took it out on the wheel of his truck, and the gas pedal.

"They're both sedated at the moment," Bradley explained, "And in the middle of undergoing some tests. Sam was unconscious when the paramedics reached them, but he was roused on the scene, and he has since been very responsive. He appears to have a mild concussion and will undoubtedly have some extensive bruising, but we'll be conducting some tests to make sure that's all we have to deal with. His prognosis is excellent, but we're keeping him at least overnight for observation. Dean," he took another deep breath, "Is a more complex case.

"He was conscious and walking on the scene," Bradley explained, "But it was soon apparent that he was already suffering from post-traumatic amnesia – he could not remember the circumstances around the accident, and is having trouble retaining memories just after it. There's been a deterioration in lucidity and consciousness since we took him in, but it's likely he's just tired himself out. We are already examining his scans on priority, and we will be ready to go into further procedures, if necessary, with your permission, of course"

"The hell does that -"

"If we have to go into surgery," Bradley expounded, "I will surely be able to tell you more when you arrive, Mr. Winchester. But for now, rest assured that your boys are stable and well-looked-after. Just get here as soon as you can, and expect to be contacted by either a..." Bradley paused, as if looking for a name, and John could hear the shuffling of sheafs of paper, "A Detective Vaughn or a Detective Diamond."

"Is that par for the course?" John asked, "To be called by the cops? Or did something else happen? Was anyone else hurt? Was someone drunk, or -"

"There is some criminal element to the accident," Bradley said, "But not what you'd normally think. I suggest you turn on the news, Mr. Winchester. Your boys are heroes."

John blinked, taken slightly aback by that, speaking of goddamned curveballs. The truth was though, he didn't need them to be heroes; he realized that all he wanted was for them to be alive, and for them to be around him.

More calls came in after that – Bobby Singer, Jim Murphy, a couple other acquaintances, some people he helped out from before – asking if what they saw in the news was true, asking if he or the boys needed anything. In minutes someone was taking care of his half-done hunt, someone was taking care of picking up and repairing Dean's car. He did not have many friends, but what there was... was invaluable.

He reached the hospital in a white-knuckled three hours, stole a parking space from an old couple about to make the turn in. The main entrance was blocked through with press people, something he expected given what he'd heard on the news on his way there.

"Sixteen-year-old high school junior Annie Huntington was abducted from just outside her school late afternoon today, drugged and stuffed inside the trunk of a white late-80s sedan by an unknown kidnapper," the reporter had stated. It was a simultaneous radio and television air of the local nightly news, "Emulating what she had learned from TV crime show Call of the Blue, she tore at the upholstered covering of the interior of the trunk, broke into the lights and wiggled her fingers so that people on the road would know she was inside."

Her tone turned scripted-astonished in that typical reporter fashion as she continued, saying, "Brothers Dean and Sam Winchester, just seventeen and thirteen years old, were driving home from volunteer library work and Latin Club -

God, John thought morbidly, the news made his young troublemakers sound like a coupla saints...

" - and spotted Annie's fingers through the broken lights," she went on, talking to her co-anchor now, "And Bob, these remarkable boys not only called 911, they went in pursuit of the car. When Annie managed to pop open the trunk and jumped onto the road, the Winchesters swerved to avoid hitting her and their car rolled, leaving both boys injured, and the unknown kidnapper still at large. Worse still, Annie is insisting there was another girl with her inside the trunk, elevating the urgency of the case. If anyone out there has any information, or was along Daffy-Ashland Way between 5 PM to 6 PM today and may have seen something, please, please call the number on your screen – you really don't know what information out there can help move this case forward."

"Any word on those two boys, Shelly?" Bob asked.

"For that update and more, we have Bench Brackett right outside Ashland Midway Memorial, where all three teenagers were taken in for emergency care. Bench?"

John pushed his way past the crowds, was halted by a guard at the door. He muttered that he was John Winchester, in as low a volume as he could manage, unwilling to be subject to the media vultures. The guard's eyes widened marginally, before discreetly leading John inside. The guard went on his radio and minutes later, John was in the admission wing, in front of Doctor Bradley.

"Where are they?" he asked, right off the bat. He could feel eyes on them, the nurses, the doctors, the guards. For a man used to living under the radar, the scrutiny made him itch, but that was a problem he'd have to take care of later, after seeing with his own eyes that his sons were all right, after he hears Dean say It's okay, Dad, after he hears Sam bitch about missing even more school. Only then could he take care of anything else.

"Mr. Winchester-" Bradley began.

"John," the hunter rapidly corrected him; that would save them four syllables and a couple of seconds from here on out.

"We've put Sam and Dean in a private room," Bradley reported, "They were assigned a minor security detail, at the recommendation of Detectives Vaughn and Diamond, because they are important witnesses to a crime with the perpetrator still at large. Did the police get in touch with you?"

"No," John replied, "I only know what's going on from you and from the news."

Bradley nodded, "They will probably just speak with you here-"

"Can you just take me to them?" John cut him off, "All right? Take me to them, and then we talk about everything else. I can't... I can't fucking hear anything else right now..."

"Walk with me," Bradley said, "They're both resting. Sam's asleep, but we'll wake him up. He asked to be woken when you arrive, and it's about time for some cognitive tests anyway. Dean's still under - his scans have showed minor traumatic brain injury, which accounts for the memory-loss. We've had to go in the OR for some repairs but nothing too invasive, and we expect him to recover fully in no time. We've put him on oxygen but you shouldn't let that alarm you. It's on account of a couple cracked ribs from colliding with the steering wheel, compounded by the anesthesia from the surgery and a few other meds he's on that depresses respirations. It's just a precaution, we don't want him to work too hard breathing, he needs all the rest and recovery he can get."

"Okay," John said, bracing himself as the two men stopped in front of a door manned by a uniformed guard, "Lemme in."

Bradley led the way inside the dimly lit room, and was surprised to find Sam not only awake, but perched on the edge of his bed, feet hanging on the narrow space between his bed and Dean's, tightly gripping his IV pole pale and huffing, looking like he was on his way toward his brother.

"Sam!" John exclaimed, pushing Bradley aside and putting his hands to his son's face, turning up Sam's head to look at him. One eye was swollen shut, and the entire side of his face was bruised. His eyes were watering aggressively, the pupils slightly unequal, but he was as sharp and aware as always.

"Dad," he gasped out, blinking repeatedly, "You're back."

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm here," and saying the latter made his throat close up a little, "Whatcha doing up, huh, Sammy?"

"'Was ch-checking on D-Dean," Sam replied, "He wouldn't w-wake up."

"He'll be under for a little bit longer, Sam," Bradley explained mildly from behind John, "But we told you not to worry, do you remember-"

Sam recognized he was being tested and he impatiently filled in, "Minor traumatic brain injury, post-traumatic amnesia, busted ribs. But he'll be fine. Yeah, I remember. But I just... I just..."

"It's okay, Sammy," John soothed, settling his younger son back down in bed. Sam struggled half-heartedly, eyes on his brother, but eventually just let his father lay him back down and put a thin blanket over him, "They're taking good care of him, and I'm here now."

"But he's so quiet," Sam murmured, "He's never this quiet. He was... he was screaming his lungs out when they brought us in."

"Screaming?" John asked, turning to Bradley inquisitively.

"For Sam," Bradley explained, "He kept demanding for someone to look at his brother."

John bit his lip and nodded, turned to his unconscious eldest. Bradley was dreaming if he thought any parent could keep from feeling alarmed by the sight of the tube feeding his son oxygen through his nose, or Dean's bruised, uncharacteristically slack face beneath a bandage wound around his head. His muscles were so relaxed that he looked just like a pile of cloths on the bed, as inanimate as the wires and the blankets.

He's never this quiet...

"Aw, Dean..." He murmured, and then checked himself, because Sam was watching. Sam was watching him and taking cues. Usually this burden fell on Dean; the younger brother would see the world as Dean painted it. A miserably long drive was a road trip. Cheap, awful food was consumed based on a dare. An old box is a fort... John realized he'd gotten rusty at projecting that level of confidence and certainty.

A clipped knock on the door had him turning in that direction. Two men in cheap suits stepped inside, introduced themselves as Detectives and asked to speak with him.

"Heya Sam," they also greeted the younger Winchester, "How 'ya doin, buddy, remember us?"

"Yeah," Sam answered warily, "Vaughn and Diamond. You were there when we were brought in, in the ER. Any luck with finding the other girl?"

"Wish I could have gone in here with good news, Sam," Vaughn said, "But no, not yet. Maybe when your brother wakes up, he'll be able to help us, huh?"

"Mr. Winchester?" Diamond asked, "A word with you outside?"

"Can you spare me a sec?" John asked Bradley.

"I'll just ask Sam a couple of things to check his memory," Bradley replied, "From what I've seen in the last few minutes though, he already seems to be doing excellently. You can go ahead, John."

"Sam, you good without me?" John checked.

"Go on, dad," Sam encouraged, waving him off as the doctor sat by his arm on the bed. John stepped out of the room with Vaughn and Diamond, and the three men found a quiet space at the end of the hall.

"How much of what happened here do you know about, Mr. Winchester?" Vaughn asked.

"Call me John," he told them before replying, "Just from what's on the news. There was this girl in a trunk."

Diamond nodded, and then drew out a small recorder, "This is a tape of the 911 call your sons made." He pressed play, and John's brows furrowed as he listened:

A ring, and a quick answer: "911, what's your emergency?"

"Oh God," Sam said, and in those two words it bled that he was just thirteen years old, before the more efficient, if slightly shaky continuation: "I'm driving along Daffy-Ashland Way and I think there's someone trapped inside the trunk on the car in front of me." He pulled his mouth away from the speaker and yelled at his brother, "Dean! Car and plate?"

"White Ford sedan from late 80's," John heard Dean growl in the background, "Didn't get a good look at the plate. Tell 'em we're in fucking pursuit, don't wanna lose 'em but I think he caught a scent of us, he's moving around like-"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed in alarm, and always in the background, John could hear the hum of the car as she went fast and hard and harrowing. Even though he knew he was listening to the past, these sounds were unkind to his nerves as a father.

"W-white Ford sedan from l-late 80's," Sam relayed to the operator, shakily, until his voice hardened and strengthened, "Didn't get a good look at the plates, but we're following so-"

"There!" Dean cried out triumphantly, "The plate number is-"

His voice and thought got lost in the jarring sounds of screeching wheels and twisting metal, and the sickening muffled umphs of bodies being tossed inside a tumbling vehicle. John's legs wobbled where he stood, breath coming in hard and tight at what could have been the sound of his two sons dying.

"Sir?" the 911 operator called out, "Sir are you there? Sir? We're tracing your call and sending help, all right? Sir? Sir, are you-"

Diamond cut off the recording at more unanswered calls by the operator, looking at John intently, "That perp is still out there, John, and all of our techs have listened to this thing inside and out, hoping to get an idea of what that plate number was, but no luck. The girl your boys helped rescue insists there was someone else inside the trunk with her, and we have no lead to go on, no lead but your boys, and what they can remember."

"We can't stress enough how urgent this is," Vaughn added, "That kidnapper knows we're onto him, so he'll probably ditch whoever else he got with him and that can't be good for that girl. What we're saying is we understand Dean is hurt, but we need his help, and you'll be seeing a lot of us."

"The doc says he expects the amnesia to fade in as early as 24 hours," Diamond piped in, "We won't expect Dean to remember much from just after the accident because this information wasn't encoded in his injured head properly, but the stuff before he hit his head should be recoverable. That plate number's in there somewhere and we mean to get at it."

"We'll help any way we can," John said, "They're good kids, and I can promise you now, Dean'd kill himself tryin'. You'll know something as soon as I do."

TO BE CONTINUED...I hope to catch y'all soon. 'Til the next post!