Summary:  A kidnapping, a ritual sacrifice, and a desperate hunt…just another typical holiday season for the Winchester family.
Spoilers:  Pre-Series.
A/N:  This is a SFTCOL(AR)S Secret Santa fic for Annonie.
A huge thank you to Faye Dartmouth for her beta on this one.
Disclaimer:  The Winchesters totally belong to Kripke. Dang it!

John Winchester was at odds with his youngest son. Again.

The lifestyle he had chosen wasn’t compatible with raising kids but somehow Dean had turned out alright. In fact John would say Dean was an exceptional son; dedicated, talented and willing to take orders – John never had to worry about Dean.

Sammy, on the other hand, was turning out to be a handful. It wasn’t that he was slow, stupid or a bad aim. Sam didn’t want to listen to anything John had to say. And that was the crux of the problem.

He scrubbed his hands over his face before straightening to his full height, mentally preparing himself to go another round with Sam.

John had just intercepted a call from one Ginger, a schoolmate’s of Sam’s, wondering when Sam would be at her house. Apparently Sam and Ginger had plans tonight but hadn’t agreed on a time. John took little satisfaction in explaining to Ginger that Sam wouldn’t be leaving the house tonight, or any night in the foreseeable future; Sam was grounded for the rest of his natural life. Ginger’s voice had barely quivered a response to John before hanging up.

Great, John had made a teenage girl cry. His day was complete.

Well, almost complete. Next he had to confront his youngest son about his deceptive behavior. Lying by omission to your father was just not acceptable.

Sam had always had a quiet stubbornness about him but lately he seemed to take issue with everything John said. Simple conversations turned into verbal sparring matches. Increasingly John turned to Dean as a mediator to help sort out the communication problems plaguing John and Sam. It put Dean in an uncomfortable position but John’s well-oiled machine, his family unit, was falling apart and he needed the help.

The Winchesters had moved to a new town right before Christmas and John knew the timing couldn’t have been worse as far as Sam was concerned; it wasn’t even the end of the first school semester and Sam had once again been ripped away from a stabile existence. At least to hear him tell it. And boy did he tell it; he bitched to both his dad and brother every chance he got.

John paced the kitchen as he thought back on Dean’s adolescent school years. Dean had been no angel but when it was time to buckle down and take care of business his son had been right there with him. Dean’s rebellion took the form of skipping school and collecting girlfriends, regardless of their availability, but he never questioned John or his orders.

Sam, on the other hand, could turn an observation that it was cold outside into an argument. At least if John were the one making the statement. His sweet, biddable youngest child had suddenly grown a backbone. John should have been heartened at this turn of events but the backbone tended to only be turned on him, Dean escaping the brunt of Sam’s sassiness.

“Sammy! I want to see you in the kitchen. Now!” John bellowed from the kitchen. Sam had closed himself in the bedroom he shared with Dean right after John had picked him up from school. Sam had been in such a snit, reason unknown, he hadn’t even deigned to eat with John and Dean.

John heard the bedroom door at the top of the stairs open followed by light footsteps approaching the kitchen. He didn’t look forward to the upcoming conversation but Sam needed to understand that John called the shots. Everyone’s well being depended upon it.

Sam shuffled into the kitchen, hair in his eyes, and stopped before his father. “Sir?” It was incredible how much insolence could be injected into that one syllable. John felt his blood pressure begin to rise.

“Your friend Ginger just called and I had to tell her you couldn’t come over tonight. What the hell did you think you were doing making plans when you knew you were grounded?” John flinched as he heard his voice. Damned if he didn’t sound just like his own father talking to him when he was younger; he’d vowed never to do that and yet here he was, spouting off just like his dear, old dad to his youngest.

John found himself tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for an answer. Sam stared down at his feet, mute. “Sam, look at me when I’m talking to you.” Sam folded his arms across his chest and continued to evade eye contact. After what seemed like an eternity of silence he reached forward and grabbed Sam’s chin, angling it up so he could look into his eyes.

John’s eyes widened as he noticed that Sam was sporting a shiner over his left eye. How had he missed that earlier? John was supposed to be observant. Their lives depended on it. He couldn’t believe Sam’s shiner had flown under his radar. It frustrated him that Sam wouldn’t trust him to share what had happened and instead hid behind a wall of silence and his hair.

John, unwilling to delve into the larger issue of Sam’s mistrust, focused instead on the familiar -- Sam’s hair which he conveniently used as a curtain to shut out John. Short in the back but long in the front, Sam’s hair was the bane of John’s existence and a constant source of friction between the two.

“Tomorrow you’re getting your haircut,” John stated.

Sam had meekly allowed his father to touch his chin and brush the hair off of his face but the fact that the only comment his father could make over his black eye had to do with his hair hurt Sam to no end. He hadn’t really expected sympathy but he thought his father would at least ask what had happened. But when it came to him he sometimes felt like John Winchester just couldn’t be bothered.

Disgusted at what he perceived to be his dad’s uncaring attitude and his own hurt over it, Sam pushed away from his father and made to leave the kitchen.

John wanted to know what the hell had happened to Sam’s face. Why couldn’t Sam just tell him instead of turning this into a production number? For the umpteenth time John wished his youngest had come with an instruction manual. Increasingly it was harder to reach him and he felt as though he was cutting himself off from John. Dean was never this difficult.

“Oh no you don’t. Were not done here yet,” John said as Sam shied away from him. When his words went unheeded John decided to physically rein in Sam.

John reached out to grab Sam’s arm as he passed by and at the last moment his son tried to dodge away. Instead of making contact with his arm John’s hand ended up swinging against Sam’s shoulder at the same moment that his usually sure-footed son lost his balance; Sam toppled sideways cracking his head against a cupboard and slithered to the floor, landing on his knees.

John crouched next to his son and rubbed his back, “Sam, talk to me. Are you okay?” He’d wanted to confront the situation head on but he hadn’t planned on things getting so out of hand. Even if it was unintentional. What did he always tell the boys--there is no room for accidents.

Sam pushed himself to his feet and away from his father. “It was an accident. I’m fine. I’ll be up in my room.” Sam’s head was ringing but he’d sustained no permanent damage. However, his pride and his feelings were hurt. He brushed past Dean and trudged upstairs. Could this day get any worse?

Ten city blocks away the motel sign blinked its vacancies relentlessly. John Thompson, known as JT to friends and foes alike, lounged on the motel bed with his prized possession, The Arcane, lovingly cradled in his hands. This tome held the secret to immortality; at least JT believed this to be the case. You only had to read between the lines to understand it.

His fingers traced over the raised letters in the section on Cernunnos, the Celtic god of fertility, life, animals, wealth, and the underworld. His cult spread throughout Gaul and into Britain around the 1st century BC. The mythology suggested that this horned god was born at the winter solstice and died at the summer solstice, alternating with the goddess of the moon in ruling over life and death, continuing the cycle of death, rebirth and reincarnation.

JT’s eyes glinted obscenely as he re-read the passage that pertained to his current mission. To achieve the bounty of Herne the Hunter, also knows as Cernunnos or Cern, a sacrifice must be made at midnight on the winter solstice outside of hallowed ground. It is to be a live boy child, son of a hunter, pure of body and soul. The incantation of Herne along with the Hunter Boy will call forth the spirit of the horned god; petition him for succor and if your sacrificial lamb is worthy he will bestow his attributes upon you in exchange for the live sacrifice.

December 22 was only a day away and JT had found his sacrificial lamb. After much deliberation, he had decided that pure of body referred to a virgin and pure of soul meant a generous spirit.

JT’s former good friend, John Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, had sired two sons. The oldest boy was of an age where his virginity would most assuredly be an issue. At 19, with his fair good looks and easy charm, Dean Winchester was a definite success with the ladies.

Sam Winchester, however, seemed to have everything JT needed. JT was certain of his virginity as he was just maturing out of an awkward adolescent stage and stories reputed him to have a warm and gentle nature which was driving his father and brother to distraction; hunters didn’t stop to help injured dogs as young Sam had supposedly done recently while on a hunt with his family.

I bet John Winchester is fit to be tied JT thought when he heard this story from another hunter and mutual friend of JT’s and John Winchester’s. A dog had darted out into the road while the Winchesters were en route to a job and the Impala had clipped the back left hip of the dog. John’s youngest had refused to leave the scene until they dropped the dog off at a Veterinary Clinic. Short of bodily stuffing his son into the car John had decided that the quickest way to get back to the job at hand was to acquiesce to Sam’s demands. Rumor had it that the two Winchesters had stopped talking over this incident.

Unconsciously rubbing his hands together, JT pondered his next move. He had tracked the Winchesters to their current base outside of Chicago. John had rented a furnished apartment in the poorer section of town, enrolled Sam in school, and was now working as a mechanic along with Dean at a Sears Automotive Center. JT didn’t know what had drawn the Winchesters to Schaumburg, Illinois, and he didn’t care since he was only interested in procuring the boy, Sam Winchester, for his ritual. And if John and his young son were at odds, all the better-- that meant it might be easier to get to his target. JT gathered some items together and headed out to his car. It was time to implement the first stage of his plan.

Tension simmered throughout the apartment as Sam disappeared upstairs and Dean joined his father in the kitchen.

Dean had been relaxing on the couch in the living room, quietly channel surfing, when the argument had exploded between his dad and brother. The apartment had thin walls and he couldn’t help but overhear the argument, including the sound of something solid smacking into a cupboard. That something solid being his baby brother.

“Dad, what the hell?” Dean stood in the kitchen doorway in open mouthed amazement. “Did you just hit Sam?” Dean was incredulous. Sam could try the patience of a saint but no one laid a finger on his brother. Not even his dad.

“Give it a rest Dean. He slipped. It was an accident.” John sighed. Dean had always protected his younger brother with a fierceness that made him proud but lately he felt as though Dean didn’t approve of the way he handled Sam. Well, if Dean could do better, John was more than happy to let him try.

Unable to mend the situation with Sam at the moment, John turned his attention to something he had some control over – his quest for information on the Fire Demon who had ripped his family apart fourteen years ago.

“We need to do some reconnaissance. Be ready to roll in 30 minutes.” John was pursuing a tip regarding the demon and had intended that both Dean and Sam would join him tonight but there was no way he was going to insist Sammy come along now. Not after the little scuffle in the kitchen. He needed to let things cool down a little on that front.

“What about Sammy?” Dean wanted to know. He hadn’t talked to his brother since he’d slammed upstairs after school, preferring to lounge in the living room while Sam calmed down. He had no idea what was going on but he intended to get the full story out of Sam. Dean had learned from experience that if things festered with Sam for too long then what was just a minor understanding could quickly blossom into an international incident.

“Do me a favor and go upstairs and check on him. I want him to lay low and stay put while we’re out.” John regretted that he wasn’t comfortable enough to go upstairs and talk to Sam now but he needed to focus on the job ahead of them. He trusted Dean to smooth things over.

Dean nodded his head before heading upstairs. He didn’t bother saying anything because he knew it would fall on deaf ears. His father ran a tight ship and didn’t take kindly to interference when he thought he was in the right. Which in John’s view was always.

Dean was already an adult at 19 but it seemed that his 15-year-old brother’s spirit was easily crushed and he needed to hear that he wasn’t a failure. John Winchester had always been a hard task master but lately it seemed that he’d forgotten how to dole out praise to his sons. Dean knew his dad loved them but would it kill him to let them know it once in a while?

“Sammy?” Dean said as he knocked on the bedroom door. He didn’t hear a reply but decided to go in anyway -- after all it was his bedroom, too.

Dean entered the bedroom unsure of what to expect. Sam was stretched out on his back, a bedside lamp shining just enough light onto the pages of the book in his lap. He didn’t even look up as Dean entered the room.

“What’s with the silent treatment?” Dean was irritated that Sam was ignoring him.

Sam used to bring every little problem to him and now he didn’t seem to need Dean like before. Sam used to run to Dean with his skinned knees and hurt feelings and Dean had handled them with equal aplomb but this teenage version of Sam kept his own counsel and didn’t seek out Dean for help or advice. Dean missed being Sam’s protector. He missed being needed.

“I’m sorry. I heard you calling ‘Sammy’ and he doesn’t live here.” Sam set his book aside and looked up at his brother, flashing his dimples.

So Sam wasn’t mad at the world, just their dad. Dean sometimes wished he had a scorecard to keep track of Sam’s ever changing moods. But he was pleased that Hurricane Sam had blown through leaving a sunnier disposition if his smile was anything to go by.

As Dean crossed the room and approached Sam he marveled at the changes that had taken place in the last year. His chubby little brother had shot up a few inches and now resembled some exotic being with his large tilted eyes and skin stretched taut over his cheekbones.

The girls were starting to flock to his brother and Dean couldn’t help but be proud. Another Winchester dazzling the ladies. Another thing the brothers could bond over.

On closer examination Dean noticed the black eye. “Jesus Sammy. Did Dad do that to you?” Dean gestured toward Sam’s left eye. He couldn’t believe it.

“Relax. Dad didn’t do this to me.” Sam peered around his long bangs to look Dean in the eye, “It happened at school.”

Dean didn’t appreciate the fact that Sam was making him pull the details out of him. But no one touched his brother and got away with it. Except him.

Dean reached forward and touched the skin around the blackened area. “Does it hurt?”

“What do you think? Of course it hurts,” Sam spit out sarcastically. He instantly regretted both the words and the tone. Dean was the best brother a guy could ask for and didn’t deserve Sam’s attitude. He also knew Dean would want to beat the guilty party for daring to lay a finger on his brother but the truth was Sam could stick up for himself. In fact he wasn’t the only person with a black eye this evening.

Unhappy with the situation he found himself in and life in general, Sam took it out on the one person who always stuck up for him -- Dean.

“You know what little brother? You’d better watch that smart mouth of yours or someone is going to shut it for you.” Dean couldn’t believe the gall of his younger sibling. And he was fed up with the mood swings.

Frustrated over Sam’s behavior toward him Dean grabbed up the book that Sam had been reading and flung it across the room. He’d assured himself that Sam was okay and now he was going to get out of there before Sam succeeded in picking a fight. Throwing the book rather than decking his brother was the safest choice at the moment.

As Dean slammed out of the bedroom he snarled, “Dad says your ass is grounded. If I were you I wouldn’t move a muscle until we get back.”

Sam dropped his head into his hands. He regretted his harsh words to Dean but what he really wanted was some peace and quiet. His head throbbed and he wanted to rest. He loved Dean without reserve but Dean was not a quiet, restful person. He turned off the light and settled back as he heard the front door to the apartment close.

JT watched from the relative safety of his beat up sedan across the street as John and Dean Winchester exited the apartment and got in a truck. He couldn’t believe how easy this quest was turning out to be. He pulled a ski mask over his face, pulled plastic gloves onto his hands, and grabbed up the black bag on the back seat. The bag held the necessities for subduing young Winchester -- a chloroform soaked cloth, syringe filled with sedative, blindfold, gag, and ropes. And his prized possession, The Arcane. Although he knew the passage by heart he refused to be parted from it.

Checking for foot traffic as well as cars he decided the coast was clear. It was time to make his move.

JT jimmied open the apartment door leading to the Winchester’s unit. John had grown lax in the security department. The door was not bolted from within and JT easily gained entry. He noted the salt coating the floor but chuckled; salt wouldn’t repel a thief or kidnapper and this apartment wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods. JT’s estimation of John’s parenting skills plummeted. This was no place to raise a kid. Sam would be better off away from this existence.

JT turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen before stealthily making his way upstairs. From here on out darkness was his friend. On the second floor he passed a bathroom and bedroom with opened door before approaching the last room. Behind that door was the key to JT’s plan.

Taking a deep breath JT turned the knob and pushed into the room. Peering into the darkness he paused to allow his eyes time to adjust to the new landscape. Scanning the room he thought he detected the outline of a body in the bed farthest from the door. JT set down his bag and pulled the chloroformed cloth out a plastic bag, taking care to hold it away from his own face. He slipped the syringe into his pocket. Holding the cloth in his hand he stepped farther into the room.

JT sensed someone was behind him and dropped to a kneeling position at the alert. He felt the rush of the attack but allowed himself to be tumbled over, knocking his bag over, but securely holding the cloth in his hand. Moonlight glinted off the body above him; Sam Winchester. He quickly thrust the cloth over Sam’s face and held it firmly in place as Sam tried to wrestle it off. JT had the advantage of weight and strength and before long Sam was pinned underneath him, losing the battle with consciousness.

Sam couldn’t believe this was happening. His dad and brother hadn’t even been gone for half an hour when he’d heard the apartment front door open and when neither his dad nor Dean had called out he’d felt something was wrong. Hiding behind his door he’d hoped he could take the burglar by surprise or that the room he was in would be left in peace. He was baffled when the intruder seemed to head straight for his room. When the door opened he’d pounced on the figure. Whoever was in his room was taller and wider than him but he had the element of surprise. He hadn’t planned on the fact that someone would try to drug him.

Sam valiantly held his breath as he fought to get clear of the cloth smothering his face but he was fast becoming dizzy and the room was spinning around. After holding out for as long as he could he was forced to take a breath and that’s when the fight left him and he spun into blackness. Dean, I need you were his last thoughts before he passed out.

JT sat back on his heels and observed his sacrificial lamb. He was a good looking youth and had fought well for his age and size. It really was a pity. But to achieve his goals he needed Sam Winchester.

JT pulled the syringe from his pocket and smoothly uncapped it before pulling back the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt and sliding the needle into his upper arm. He couldn’t take any chances that Sam would wake up before he was ready for him.

JT retrieved his bag, picking up the spilled contents. He pulled Sam’s arms behind him, quickly tying the rope around his wrists before winding another length of rope tightly around his legs. Satisfied that Sam was trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose he slid the blindfold around his eyes and the gag into his mouth.

Now he needed something to disguise Sam so that no one would be suspicious if they saw him exiting the apartment carrying a large object. Pulling a blanket off the nearest bed he rolled Sam into it and heaved the precious package over his shoulder. Scooping up his bag he made his way downstairs. Stepping carefully over the salt he pulled the apartment door closed behind him. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. That had gone far more smoothly than he would ever have anticipated.

Jauntily heading across the street toward his car JT didn’t see the curtain pulled aside from the second floor window of the apartment adjacent to the Winchesters. He gently lowered his burden across the backseat before getting into the car. Tomorrow was the Winter Solstice and he was ready to petition the horned God.

It was well after midnight when John and Dean returned to the apartment. John cursed as he stumbled in the front door. He’d left the lights on for a reason and Sam had apparently thought it would be cute to turn them off. He loved his youngest with all his heart but if Sam were standing in front of him right now he’d gladly wring his neck.

Dean flicked on the living room light and saw the thundercloud overtaking his dad’s face. Here it was more than fives hours after his father’s little altercation with his youngest son and he was still out of sorts over the situation.

Trying to head off his father’s irritation Dean quickly climbed upstairs calling out, “Sammy, we’re back.” He didn’t hear Sam’s answering reply and started to become concerned.

“Sam?” Dean pushed into the bedroom he shared with his brother and right away realized that Sam wasn’t there.

“Sammy? Quit screwing around! Where the hell are you?” Dean ran into the bathroom and then his father’s bedroom but Sam was no where to be found. As he rushed back into the hallway he was joined by his father. Dean was frantic with worry. John, however, seemed more angry than anything else.

“I just knew he was going to pull something like this. I should have ignored his temper tantrum and made him come with us tonight.” John thrust his hand through his hair in agitation, adding, “He’s never going to make 18 at this rate—I’m going to kill him first.”

“Dad, what are you talking about? He’d never worry us like this. I think something’s wrong.” Dean was the first to admit that Sam could be selfish and self absorbed but he was at that age. Sam would never make his older brother worry needlessly over him. He just knew something else was going on here.

“Sam is probably safe and sound at his new friend Ginger’s house. I’m going to get that phone number off of the caller ID and call over there right now. Sam is going to be sorry that he pulled this little stunt.” John couldn’t believe his formerly responsible youngest son would try something so asinine. If he was going to sneak out of the house he should have damned well made sure he returned before John did. John wasn’t sure what punishment would fit this crime but he vowed Sam would learn a lesson from it.

John stormed back downstairs and headed for the phone in the kitchen. Dean followed but veered off next to the front door where the coat closet was located. Whipping it open he saw Sam’s coat, boots, gloves and hat all resting comfortable where Sam had left them on the bottom of the closet floor.

“Dad, wait. Come look at this.” Dean suddenly felt shaky. Sam wouldn’t leave the apartment in the dead of winter without his winter gear.

John, picking up on the seriousness of Dean’s tone, put down the phone and joined Dean by the coat closet.

Dean gestured toward the floor, “See, I told you something was wrong. What are we going to do?” John was confused by Dean’s insistence that something was amiss. All’s he saw was Sam’s jacket and winter stuff on the ground instead of being properly hung up. Messy but not worth Dean’s concern. And then it hit him.

“Why would Sam leave the house without his coat?” John was having trouble connecting the dots. He wanted to believe that Sam had disobeyed orders rather than the alternative.

Dean wanted to smack his father in the forehead. Why was he being so dense? Someone or something had taken his brother; he just knew it. There was no other plausible explanation.

Dean saw understanding dawn over John followed swiftly by fear. John tried to pull himself together but inside he felt like a runaway train rushing heedlessly forward. Breathe. Focus. They needed to find Sammy.

“You take the upstairs and I’ll start down here. We need to search every square inch of this place. There’s got to be some sort of clue.” As far as plans went it was pretty mediocre but John didn’t even know where to look for his son at the moment. He was scared out of his mind.

Dean should have felt relieved that his father finally understood the seriousness of the situation. Instead he felt cold dread. He thought John Winchester would know what to do but his dad looked as lost and petrified on the outside as Dean felt on the inside.

Dean headed back upstairs and stopped in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with his brother and looked around the room. At first glance he noticed the cover was missing off of his bed. He also saw that the wastebasket next to the rickety desk had been knocked over. With each passing second he became more anxious.

Dean continued on into the room and stopped in the middle, slowing whirling around looking first at the ceiling, then the floor and finally the walls. He darted over the closet and nothing seemed to be missing. Next he pulled open dresser drawers noting that all of Sam’s clothes and his favorite bowie knife were all accounted for.

Dean looked up as he heard his dad approaching. “Any luck?” John asked, hope clear in his voice.

Dean jerkily shook his head no. “The extra blanket off my bed is missing and that’s it.” Tears were just under the surface and Dean tried to swallow them down.

Needing an outlet for his emotions Dean walked over to Sam’s bed, punching the mattress, before sliding to the floor. “What are we going to do? It’s 20 degrees out there and he’s in just his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s not even wearing shoes Dad!”

John took in the defeated posture as Dean laid his head against his knees. “Dean, this is no time to lose it. I need you to pull yourself together.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he glared at his dad. “Don’t you even care?” Dean whispered. For once he wanted his dad to act like a real dad. He wanted comfort. And he wanted his little brother back. Right now.

Upset that John didn’t respond to his query, Dean pushed himself up off of the floor only to return back to it with a thump. His hand had slipped on something. He reached under the bed and pulled out a book. The Arcane. He’d never heard of it and was pretty sure that it wasn’t Sam’s. His brother’s collection was wide ranging and eclectic but he didn’t own anything this old.

Standing up Dean offered the book to his dad, “I’ve never seen this before.”

John silently took the book, sinking down on Dean’s bed. He started thumbing through the fragile pages. Pausing only long enough to read the heading of each chapter, his heart leapt into his throat as his eyes spotted the section on Herne the Hunter marked with a thin strip of leather.

Phrases jumped off of the page and he found himself reading aloud from the excerpt on the ritual to summon the Hunter God…a sacrifice must be made at midnight on the winter solstice outside of hallowed ground. It is to be a live boy child, son of a hunter, pure of body and soul…John’s stomach dropped down to his toes as the implications of this passage wormed their way into this brain.

“You don’t think…” Dean’s voice trailed off and he audibly swallowed. “I mean, Sam wouldn’t be…” Dean couldn’t give voice to the thought it was so heinous. Someone had taken his baby brother and planned to use him as a sacrifice. First he would find Sammy and then he would kill the bastard who dared touch his brother.

“Come on son. We’ve got a lot of research ahead of us and I need to call in some markers. If this is what I think it is then we don’t have much time to find Sammy. The Winter Solstice is tomorrow night.”

JT pulled the car up to the ramshackle maintenance shed set on the outskirts of St. Peter’s Cemetery. Located on the south side of town it was a mere twenty minutes from the Winchesters’ apartment. It also abutted a forest reserve and for all intents and purposes was abandoned. The ritual needed to be performed outside of hallowed ground and what better place to conduct a ritual intended for a forest god then in a forest? He tried to tamp down on the giddiness bubbling within him. In less than twenty four hours he would be able to summon Herne the Hunter with his offering.

The obvious disrepair of the cemetery coupled with the cold weather gave JT confidence that no one would be bothering them while they waited for the Winter Solstice. He decided it was time to settle in and make himself comfortable while they waited for the appointed time.

JT pulled the blanket wrapped body out of the backseat and balanced Sam on his shoulder. JT tugged the collar of his jacket up higher on his neck with his free hand. He’d forgotten how frigid a Midwestern winter could be. As he pushed open the shed door he had a moment of doubt. The shed didn’t have a heat source and he needed to keep Sam alive until the ritual. He shrugged off the concern. He’d just have to heap blankets on the boy.

Turning on the lone light switch JT made his way over to the cot he’d set up earlier that day, gently lowering his burden onto it. He peeled the blanket back from Sam’s face and was shocked at the pallor he found there. Pulling off a glove he reached forward to touch the carotid artery and was relieved to find a pulse. JT touched Sam’s cheek and noticed it was extremely cold to the touch. Sam’s lips had also turned a disturbing shade of blue.

JT hustled back to the car and popped the trunk open. He reached in and grabbed an old insulated sleeping bag he kept in case of emergencies. This definitely qualified as an emergency. He couldn’t allow his sacrificial lamb to die ahead of schedule.

JT wasted no time in stuffing Sam into the sleeping bag. Maneuvering the unconscious boy had proven to be difficult and JT wiped sweat off of his forehead. Sam could have benefited from some of his warmth but he didn’t want to get that close. He needed to remain objective otherwise he feared he would back out of his plan.

Spreading the blanket over the sleeping bag JT awkwardly patted the boy’s shoulder. JT was too uncomfortable to stick around and Sam shouldn’t be surfacing from the drugs for at least another ten hours. JT decided to go back to his motel room and return in the morning to deliver another dose of the sedative. There was no reason the boy had to suffer and JT planned to keep him comfortably numb for the duration.

Turning off the light JT secured the shed door and climbed back into his sedan. So far everything was on schedule.

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John sat back in the kitchen chair and wearily rubbed his eyes. He’d just gotten off of the phone with Caleb who had assured him he would contact all of the hunters in their circle. Someone was bound to know about The Arcane.

John looked over to where Dean slumped across the couch. Sam hadn’t even been missing for twelve hours and both of them were exhausted. The only thing keeping them going was worry for the youngest member of their family and strong coffee.

“Any luck with the reference to hallowed ground, son?” John forced himself to ask. He would never give up on Sammy but time was fast running out.

Dean nodded, “There are fifteen cemeteries all within a 30-mile radius of Schaumberg. How are we going to narrow it down?” Resolve colored Dean’s voice and in that moment John had never been prouder of his eldest son. Dean wasn’t losing hope and John could only draw strength from his faith. Failure wasn’t an option.

“We’re dealing with a forest god. See if any of the cemeteries have a connection to the forest. It may be as simple as the name.” Finding the copy of The Arcane had been a stroke of good luck and now they needed another to bring Sammy back home.

A knock sounded at the apartment door and both John and Dean jumped in their seats.

“I’ve got it,” Dean said rushing for the door. He was dismayed to see the diminutive little old lady from next door hovering in the doorway. “Um, what can we do for you?”

“Well for starters you can invite me in. I’m Mrs. Simpson and I live in the apartment next to yours. I would like to talk to that nice young man, Sam. I know there’s no school today and I want him to help me with a project.” Mrs. Simpson talked in a brisk staccato manner, not mincing words.

“Hi Mrs. Simpson. I’m John and this is Dean, my other son. I’m afraid Sam isn’t here right now.” John stepped out of the kitchen eager to talk to someone who at least knew Sam in this town. “Can I ask how you know him? We haven’t even been here a week.”

Mrs. Simpson smiled as she replied, “He’s such a nice young man. Not like those other ruffians. He helped me carry groceries into my apartment the day after you moved in. These old arthritic hips don’t like to go up and down the stairs and your young man offered to help me.”

On one hand John didn’t like the fact that Sam was talking to strangers; they were supposed to keep a low profile. But offering to help an old lady carry groceries into her apartment was pure Sam.

“Are you sure he isn’t here? I didn’t see him leave.” Mrs. Simpson didn’t seem to care that she had let slip how closely she paid attention to the comings and goings of her neighbors.

John was taken aback that this old biddy had taken it upon herself to monitor his family. He was on the verge of letting her know she was an interfering busybody when Dean interrupted him.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Simpson, do you remember the last time you saw Sam?” Dean knew it sounded like a strange question but he suspected if anyone had seen something last night it was this tiny, bird-like creature with blue hair standing before them. God, Sam sure can pick them Dean thought to himself.

Mrs. Simpson had a quizzical expression on her face but to her credit she just answered, “Why I saw him yesterday afternoon when your father brought him home. I must say, he didn’t look very happy.”

John jumped back into the conversation, “Can you tell me if you’ve seen anyone else leaving the apartment since then?” John knew they were pressing but Mrs. Simpson was a lot sharper then they had initially given her credit for.

“Well I saw you to two leave around 7:15 in your Ford truck. I like your Chevy better; I’ve always had a weakness for sporty numbers,” Mrs. Simpson said, putting a finger to her chin thoughtfully.

Looking up she caught the frustrated look on Dean’s face and realizing she had strayed off topic she continued, “And then around 7:45 I saw someone carry what I thought was a carpet out from your apartment. He was tall and thin but it must not have been a very large carpet because he was able to fit it in the back seat of his Crown Vic.” Mrs. Simpson had a smug look on her elfin face. You didn’t have to be male to appreciate and know automobiles.

“Mrs. Simpson, how long have you lived in this area?” Dean asked.

“I’ve lived here for sixty years. Mr. Simpson, God rest his soul, settled us here right after he returned from overseas where he fought in The Great War.” Mrs. Simpson was still as proud of her husband today as she had been when they first married. She was so lonely without him. But these Winchesters were turning out to be very interesting. They asked a lot of seemingly random questions but at least they didn’t ignore her or treat her like a doddering old fool.

“Can you tell me if there’s a cemetery in the area that’s connected with a wooded area or forest?” Dean hadn’t had much luck with the telephone book but maybe Mrs. Simpson would know of something. It didn’t hurt to ask.

“Let me think for a moment. Well there’s no Shady Lawn around here if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t think of a single one, and there must be at least a dozen in the area, that have woodland or forest in the name. But there’s old St. Peter’s off of Higgins. It’s abandoned but it’s right next to the forest preserve. Is that what you meant?”

John shocked Mrs. Simpson by kissing her leathered cheek. “Thank you so much for answering our questions Mrs. Simpson. We’ll tell Sam you dropped by.” He maneuvered the stunned elderly lady to the door and ushered her out before she could recover her composure. Once she was gone he leaned against the door to collect himself.

Thanks to Mrs. Simpson they now had their first real lead.

John clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder as they silently scooped up their jackets. “Let’s go see if we can bring your brother home.”

JT returned to the maintenance shack at St. Peter’s and was dismayed to find Sam in worse shape then when he had left him. He was no doctor but the wheezing, stuttering breaths Sam was emitting coupled with the dusky blue shade of his face didn’t bode well for his plans. At this rate he wouldn’t have a live sacrifice.

“NO! This can’t be happening!” JT flew into a sudden rage. There was no way he could move forward with his plan. He picked up a piece of plywood and threw it against the far wall of the shack. Next he laid his hands on a hammer and it, too, sailed through the air.

“Deep breath. Get a hold of yourself. You have a whole year to find another sacrificial lamb to complete the ritual. You’ll have another shot at it next December. The Winter Solstice happens every year.” JT was muttering aloud as he tried to calm down.

Now that he had decided to scrap his plan using Sam he needed to decide what to do with the young man. He could phone in a tip to the police so Sam would be rescued. Or he could just let nature take its course. Although Sam had never done anything to him JT decided that John Winchester should be taken down a peg or two. And losing his youngest would certainly accomplish that.

“But there’s no reason for you to suffer.” JT pulled another syringe out of his bag and readied it. Quickly pushing aside the sleeping bag he swept the thin t-shirt aside before plunging the needle into Sam’s arm. JT made short work of unzipping the sleeping bag and bundled it up. He couldn’t afford to leave it here. He couldn’t be caught.

Picking Sam up off of the cot JT wrapped the thin blanket around him before laying him on the cold, hard ground. It took two trips to the car to stow the cot and sleeping bag but JT was finally assured that he had removed anything that would trace the events of the last day back to him. Except for Sam who probably wouldn’t live out the next hour. JT snapped off the dim light and headed back to his car. It was time to hit the road.

Sam’s eyes squinted open and blearily glanced around the dark shack. “Dean? Dad?” Sam weakly called out before succumbing to a coughing fit. He’d heard someone talking before but now seemed to be alone. He didn’t know where he was and his chest hurt. He needed to get help.

Sam tried getting to his feet but the effort was too much for him. Barely making it to an upright position he tripped over the blanket and crashed forward, striking the door. Unable to stop himself he tumbled head first out into the snow.

I’m so tired…I’ll just rest for a moment. Sam lay curled on his side, clad in only a t-shirt and sweat pants, resting on a soft pillow of snow. The sedative spread through his system, kicking off a chain reaction as his body fought the foreign substance swirling through his veins. Sam dropped off into unconsciousness unaware that his body was in for the fight of its young life.

John Winchester aimed his truck down the narrow road winding through St. Peter’s. He could see tire tracks in the snow; someone else had recently visited the old cemetery.

“Keep your eyes open Dean. We could be walking into a trap,” John cautioned his son. Dean nodded his understanding. Both men had been silent on the ride to the secluded cemetery, lost in their own thoughts.

Someone had forcibly taken his 15-year-old son from their apartment and if they were right he was about to be served up as a part of some ritual later that night. If that wasn’t bad enough John regretted the way he’d jumped to the conclusion that his son had snuck out of the house. He should have known better. Sammy was a good kid. John didn’t know why he was so hard on him.

To be honest John was hard on both of his boys but he acknowledged that increasingly he singled out Sam; he was such a dreamer and always had his nose stuck in a book. John despaired that Sam would be able to protect himself adequately or hunt evil with the purpose that John and Dean dedicated to this life. He was afraid of losing Sam and so he pushed harder. Pushed Sam farther away.

Dean was scared that they wouldn’t find Sam in time. He was equally scared that they would find Sam but that his baby brother would be scarred by the events of the last twenty-four hours. He’d been ripped from the comfort of his own bed and who knows what had happened in the mean time. He didn’t know what he would do if something happened to Sammy. He’d always protected Sam and when his brother had needed him most he’d let him down.

Dean shuddered as he recalled his parting words to Sam, “You’d better watch that smart mouth of yours or someone is going to shut it for you.” Now those words somehow seemed prophetic and he wanted to take them back. It seemed like he’d been taking care of his little brother his whole life but instead of being a burden it gave him a purpose. He couldn’t imagine life without his Sammy.

John stopped the truck when the tire tracks they had been followed halted. They were in parked in front of some kind of maintenance hut.

“Is that…?” Dean was out of the car before he could finish his sentence.

John made a grab for Dean’s arm but wasn’t quick enough. John swore out an oath, “Dammit Dean, I told you this could be a trap.” The only thing he could do now was cover Dean and pray no one else was around. He slid out of the truck and aimed his rifle in the general direction of the building.

John had fanned out around the shack and determined that no one was around. The only footsteps he saw were the ones he’d just made. He looked up in time to see Dean drop to a crouch. His heart stopped as he heard Dean cry out. He forced his legs to carry him toward Dean afraid of what he would find.

“Oh God, Sammy. What did that bastard do to you?” Dean was beside himself. His kid brother was lying motionless in the snow. He reached out and tried to find a pulse. Sam was so cold and Dean’s heart was beating so hard he couldn’t feel a beat.

“Dad?! I can’t find a pulse!” Dean had only thought he was panicked before when Sam had gone missing. Now the reality of the situation was setting in and he couldn’t think coherently.

“Here, let me.” John reached forward and frantically felt for a pulse. There, it was faint but present. He quickly stripped out of his jacket and wrapped it around his son. As he scooped Sam up he noticed the unnatural color of his exposed skin. Purplish blue was not a good look for Sam.

“Come on Dean. Let’s get him to the hospital.” Dean picked up John’s discarded rifle and loped after his dad as he took off at a run for the truck, Sam held securely in his dad’s arms.

Dean reached the truck first, throwing the rifle into the back seat before settling into the passenger seat. He held his arms out as his dad carefully transferred Sam into his keeping. John quickly slammed the passenger door shut and ran for his side.

He fired up the engine and turned the heat on full blast. He was freezing and he’d only been without his jacket for a few minutes. He could only imagine what Sam felt like. Throwing the truck into drive he quickly turned around and had them headed for the nearest hospital.

Dean felt like he was holding a block of ice in his arms. His brother’s head was tucked against Dean’s left shoulder and his legs dangled limply to the floor of the truck. Dean had wrapped his arms tightly around Sam and was rubbing his arms. The absence of movement was disconcerting. Sam wasn’t even shivering.

Dean shot a look of pure terror at his dad. John met his eyes and Dean could see an answering look in John’s face.

“We’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer,” John said softly. Dean didn’t know if the words were aimed at him or Sam but he was grateful for them nevertheless. He’d been on the verge of a panic attack and that was the last thing Sam needed right now.

“Okay, here we go,” John said as he jerked the truck to a halt outside of the ER entrance. He was out of the truck and opening the passenger door before Dean registered the fact that they had arrived at the hospital. John reached in and gently relieved Dean of his burden. Dean slid out of the truck and scrambled to keep up with his dad.

“I NEED HELP NOW!” John screamed as they burst into the ER waiting room. Sensing the urgency in John’s voice a nurse drew them back into a cubicle and motioned for John to set Sam down on a gurney. As soon as the nurse saw Sam’s color she sprinted into the hallway yelling for a Dr. Roberts. Shortly thereafter the cubicle was inundated with hospital personnel and John and Dean found themselves pushed into the hallway.

A kindly clerk showed John and Dean to a row of seats just down the hall from Sam’s cubicle. If anyone came out of the cubicle they’d be able to see it.

John didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to lose his baby boy. He reached out and drew Dean into a brief hug. He needed that connection. The waiting was slowly killing him.

Dean’s emotions had ricocheted from high to new low within a span of fifteen minutes. He’d been so happy to get back his Sammy but now he wasn’t sure he would make it. He wanted to see the twinkle in his brother’s eyes and the dimples in his cheeks. But his brother had been so cold and motionless in his arms.

A nurse came out a short while later and collected some information from the Winchesters about Sam. The only thing she’d say about his condition was that the doctor was with him right now and would be out to speak with them as soon as possible. She’d had a look of concern but not pity upon her face. Father and son both heaved a sigh of relief. At least Sam was still alive.

“Mr. Winchester? I’m Dr. Roberts,” said a man in a lab coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. “Sam is alive but he’s in critical condition. We’re going to move him up to our ICU floor where we can monitor him closely.”

John and Dean both sagged with relief. “When can we see him?” Dean asked. He never wanted to let Sam out of his sight again.

“Let us get him settled and then you can sit with him for a while.” Dr. Roberts paused for a moment to let that sink in before further explaining Sam’s condition, “Your son is suffering from exposure. He’s hypothermic and we’re slowly raising his core body temperature. He also sustained frostbite.”

Dean swallowed down bile before asking, “How bad is it? Is he going to lose any fingers or toes?” He knew that was common with frostbite. He couldn’t imagine his perfect little brother missing body parts.

“We don’t know at this point. But I can say that all of that cold Sam suffered was actually a good thing in this case. He suffered anaphylactic shock from a drug we found in his system. We were able to counteract that here but if it had progressed at its normal pace, instead of being slowed by the extreme cold, he probably would have died before you got him to the hospital.” Dr. Roberts took in the grave faces of the two men before him. There were two more things he needed to say and he didn’t look forward to delivering either pieces of news.

“Sam also has double pneumonia but as soon as his core temperature warms we’ll administer IV antibiotics. I’m afraid at this point we have to play a waiting game. But the fact that your son has lived through these traumas to this point gives me cause to believe that he’ll pull through. He’s definitely a fighter.” Dr. Roberts didn’t like to give false hope but from what he’d seen he liked Sam’s chances of a full recovery.

“Any questions?” Both Winchesters shook their heads no so Dr. Roberts plowed on, “There’s one last thing I need to mention. As a health professional I’m mandated to report possible cases of child maltreatment or neglect to Child Protective Services.” Dr. Roberts noted the look of deep concern on John’s face and incredulity on Dean’s. He didn’t know what had happened to his patient and frankly he didn’t want to know. He fancied himself an excellent judge of character and didn’t believe either of the men in front of him had anything to do with Sam’s condition. He’d be certain to mention that in his report.

“I can tell how deeply you care for that boy and he’s going to need you in the coming weeks. Be prepared for a visit from CPS. There going to want to know how Sam got into this condition.” Dr. Roberts didn’t offer his hand as he felt certain it would be rebuffed. Not many people took kindly to being reported to a county agency.

Dr. Roberts was shocked when John Winchester stuck his hand out and said, “We can’t thank you enough for taking care of our Sammy.” Dr. Roberts hand was pumped twice before it was released. He accepted the gesture and nodded to both Winchesters before returning to his patient. He felt that he and John Winchester had come to some sort of an understanding. Sam’s well being came first.

After an hour John and Dean were finally shown upstairs to the ICU. Only one visitor at a time was allowed to sit with Sam. John decided he would go in first because he knew the police and/or CPS would be paying him a visit shortly. He could see by the mutinous expression on Dean’s face that he wanted to go in first but John over ruled him. He just wanted to make sure Sam was okay and then he’d turn him over to his big brother’s care.

John approached the bed with trepidation. His young son was covered by a silver warming blanket. He had an IV in his arm, an oxygen mask on his face and an assortment of monitors attached to his body. Sam was still deeply unconscious but the medical staff assured him that it was a blessing at this point. If he’d been awake he would have been in terrible pain as the nerve endings awakened from their deep freeze.

John took up one of Sam’s cold hand in his own and chafed it lightly. Words failed him as he took in the sight before him. This should never have happened. After ten minutes he stood up and kissed Sam on the forehead. He needed to let Dean in with Sam before he caused a commotion.

As John exited the room he saw a police officer striding his way. “Take care of him while I see to this,” John said touching Dean on the shoulder as his son walked passed him toward Sam’s room.

Dean glanced back and saw the uniform. A small part of him wanted to stay and talk to the cop with his dad but he couldn’t resist the urge to make sure Sam was okay. To see him with his own eyes. He made eye contact briefly with his dad before disappearing into Sam’s room.

While Dean slipped into his brother’s room John walked down the hall and greeted the officer. He suggested they walk down to the cafeteria where he and Officer Jacobs could talk in privacy. At least in more privacy then the small ICU wing afforded.

The cafeteria wasn’t busy and after grabbing a cup of coffee the two men settled at a table some distance from other people. It was there that John spun a tale of how his youngest son had run away after an argument and had somehow ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere.

No, John had no idea how the drugs had gotten into Sam’s system because Sam didn’t do drugs. But teenagers sometimes made bad choices.

No, John didn’t know why Sam wasn’t dressed for the cold weather. He wasn’t even sure when Sam slipped out of the apartment. Their neighbor, Mrs. Simpson, also hadn’t seen Sam leave and she knew everything that went on in that neighborhood.

No, it hadn’t occurred to John to call the police. He wasn’t sure how long Sam had been missing and before they sounded the alarm they wanted to look for him.

Yes, they had been very fortunate that Dean knew Sam like to hang out at St. Peter’s Cemetery. Dean said Sam liked the solitude there. Sam was a good kid but sometimes his teenage hormones seemed to get the best of him and he liked to be alone.

Yes, John knew how Sam supposedly got his black eye. Sam had said he’d gotten into a fight at school and that’s what the argument between father and son had been about.

Officer Jacobs seemed to buy the story. He said he’d follow up with the school about Sam’s black eye and talk to their neighbor and if everything checked out he’d probably receive one visit from CPS to wrap up the case.

As the officer left the cafeteria John breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped Sam would forgive him for blaming this mess on Sam’s moodiness but he didn’t want anyone digging deeper into their lifestyle. They had too much to lose.

At least this was one hurdle down. Now they just needed to get Sammy healthy and then hopefully they’d be able to leave Schaumberg before the visit from Child Protective Services. He’d crossed paths with CPS before and there was no way he was going to allow anyone to take Sammy away from him. From them.

John wished he could turn back the clock and make the last day and a half disappear. Neither son had come out unscathed and that was a parent’s worst nightmare.

Dean pulled the lone chair in the ICU up next to his brother. Emotionally wrecked he reached out and touched Sammy on the arm lightly. It was just enough to have some contact but not enough to hurt his brother’s sensitive, frostbitten skin. He’d come so close to losing his little brother. The center of his universe.

When John Winchester had placed his six month old brother in his arms Dean had taken his duty very seriously. For fifteen years he had nurtured and protected his brother from anything that would cause him harm. And now this. He’d left his brother alone for a short while and Sam had been snatched away.

Dean leaned forward and put his head down on the mattress next to Sam’s pillow. A living and breathing Sammy -- it was a modern miracle. Now he just wanted Sam to wake up and tell him he was okay.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. Soon moisture slipped from his eyes as the tensions of the last twenty-four hours started to dissipate. It was then that he became aware of movement. Sam’s arm was moving.

“Sammy?” Dean pulled his head up and found himself staring into his brother’s huge blue-green eyes.

Sam reached up with his bandaged hands and tried to pull the oxygen mask off of his face.

Dean reached forward and gently pulled Sam’s arms back down to his sides. “You need to leave that on right now. It’s to help you breathe.”

Sam, disoriented, didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was someone breaking into his bedroom and drugging him. No, that wasn’t right. He remembered someone talking and then he remembered falling.

Sam glanced wildly around the room and panic set in. “Who…” Sam wanted to know who had abducted him but his question was brutally cut off as he began to hack in earnest. He struggled to sit up so as to ease his breathing but he lacked the energy.

“Sam, it’s Dean. I’m right here buddy.” Dean reached out and touched Sam’s shoulder as watched Sam struggle to breath. His brother looked dazed and large tears were spilling from his glassy eyes and drenching his cheeks. Sam’s gaze finally landed on his disheveled brother as the heart monitor began to protest Sam’s distress.

Sam reached out with both hands and latched on to Dean’s arm. Staff spilled into the room and Dean tried to ease back to give them room to work but Sam wouldn’t release his grip. No matter what the staff tried Sam wouldn’t let go of Dean.

Sam only settled down once the staff withdrew and left the brothers alone. Dean realized that Sam had suffered not only physical trauma but also mental. This time Dean vowed to be there for his brother and protect him.

It had been two weeks since Sam’s kidnapping and the subsequent health scares but he was finally back home. He hadn’t lost any digits to the frostbite but it had taken a long time for his body to beat the pneumonia. He was still extremely lethargic and had no appetite but since he was a febrile the doctor had consented to his return home.

Due to Sam’s lingering health problems they’d been unable to leave town and avoid the follow up visit from CPS. A young woman who looked like a teenager herself had interviewed Sam within an hour of returning home to the apartment. The meeting had been cut short due to Sam’s grogginess but the CPS worker had assured herself that Sam was not in jeopardy and did not fear for his safety in his current environment. She told John that she was clearing him of neglect and he could have a copy of the report once she was finished with it. Once the door closed behind her John felt like he could finally relax.

John had just settled on the couch with a cup of coffee when he heard a knock at the door. Now what. Dean was upstairs keeping an eye on Sam and John didn’t want the knocking to disturb them so he forced himself to get up and answer the door. He was surprised to find John Thompson on his doorstep.

“I’m sorry to barge in but Caleb said you needed help. Something to do with The Arcane. He also said Sam was really sick. I always liked that kid. Is he okay?” JT was all sincere concern.

JT was in fine form that day. He felt confident that Sam wouldn’t recognize him. He’d been too drugged up and sick. Once away from the maintenance shack JT had second thoughts about leaving Sam to die and was somewhat happy to hear that he had survived his ordeal. JT thought that if Sam still met the criteria come next December he might take another stab at using him as his live sacrifice. But he had mainly come in a bid to get his copy of The Arcane back in the guise of offering help.

At one time John had counted JT among his friends but during the years he’d detected something duplicitous in his actions and had distanced himself from his one time friend. It wasn’t something he could really put his finger on but his survival depended upon following his instincts so he’d allowed a chasm to develop between the two of them.

John warily invited JT into the living room. Now that Sammy was back home where he belonged John had a burning desire to even the score with whoever had stolen him in the dead of the night and that’s why he opened his door to JT. Maybe he could help figure out who had dropped the book like a calling card while spiriting Sammy away.

At JT’s request John retrieved the ancient tome and handed it to JT for his perusal. JT lovingly fondled the binding before eagerly opening the book.

“So tell me where you found the book,” JT said as he plied John with questions about the night Sam disappeared.

Upstairs Dean heard someone at the apartment door followed by the murmur of voices. He stuck his head out into the hallway and leaning over the stairway railing he saw JT, another hunter, talking to his dad.

“Dean?” Sammy had awakened as Dean left the room. Sam couldn’t explain why he was so skittish but if he didn’t have Dean or his dad in the room with him he felt extremely anxious -- as in “can’t catch your breath going to puke’ anxious. Bereft without his brother by his side he steeled himself to venture out of the room in search of Dean.

As he wobbled across the floor Sam could now hear voices floating upstairs. Propping himself against the doorframe he paused to listen. Maybe Dean had gone downstairs to talk to their dad. Sam knew it was boring keeping the invalid company and he appreciated all of the time Dean was spending with him.

Dizziness flooded through him as he heard a strange voice. Only it wasn’t really a stranger.

“winter solstice…son of a hunter, pure…sacrificial lamb…” The voice from St. Peter’s was here in the apartment.

“Whoa there tiger. You’re not supposed to be out of bed,” Dean said as he turned to see Sam in the doorway. He became alarmed as he took in Sam’s sudden pallor. “Sammy, you okay? Let’s get you back into bed.”

Sam startled violently as Dean took his arm and tried to lead him back into the bedroom.

“Sammy, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” Sam’s face had that same dazed expression as when he’d first woken up in the hospital.

Dean was on the verge of calling his dad upstairs when Sam suddenly launched himself into Dean’s arms and buried his head against Dean’s chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Dean stroked Sam’s back unsure of what to do. It was true that Sam had been clingy since he woke up in the hospital, wanting either his dad or Dean within sight at all times. This didn’t seem unreasonable considering what he’d endured. Maybe he was just experiencing some sort of flashback.

“That’s him.” Sam’s voice was muffled against his big brother’s chest but Dean was still able to make out his words.

Dean wasn’t sure who Sam thought was here but his kid brother was shaking like a leaf. “Sam, it’s okay. That’s JT downstairs. You remember him from Caleb’s.”

“That’s the voice.” Sam tried to pull away from Dean. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He wanted to go downstairs and confront this person but at the same time he wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. He started to wheeze as his fight or flight response kicked in with a vengeance.

“Dad?” Dean wasn’t making any headway with Sam and needed some reinforcements. Maybe his dad would be able to call Sam down.

John heard Dean calling him and went to the bottom of the stairs, “Dean is everything alright upstairs?”

“I could use your help,” Dean said as he tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn’t want to upset Sam further but it looked like his brother was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“I’ll be right back,” John said to JT as headed upstairs.

“Son, you need to calm down,” John said as he took at the scene before him. Sam, held protectively in his brother’s arms, was wheezing audibly.

“What happened?” John asked Dean as he carefully approached his sons. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements and scare Sam further.

“He woke up while I was out of the room. He keeps saying something about the voice downstairs.” Dean didn’t know why Sam was so upset; he just wanted him to calm down and relax before he stripped his gears

John suddenly had an uneasy feeling about his fellow hunter, JT. He looked down the stairs in time to see JT slithering out of the door, the copy of The Arcane in his hand. Suddenly every thing clicked into place. A hunter John knew and trusted, had even once called friend, had stolen his son away and tried to sacrifice him to some God.

“Take care of your brother,” John barked to Dean as he pelted down the stairs and out the front door. JT had a large head start but John was determined to catch up with him. And make him pay.

JT sprinted down the sidewalk with no specific destination in mind. He just wanted to get away from John Winchester who was snapping at his heels. He could picture John practically frothing at the mouth in his haste to catch up with the man responsible for kidnapping his son.

JT darted out into the road in an effort to gain some distance from his adversary. He turned back to see how close John was and that was his last mistake.

A speeding taxicab coming down the street had no room to maneuver and struck JT squarely in the middle of the back. He was thrown twenty feet into the air, his spine broken in half, dead before he even hit the pavement. The book that had caused so much grief was ground up under the squealing tires of the madly braking taxicab.

John felt absolutely no remorse at witnessing the demise of his one time friend. This was the man who had plotted and almost succeeded in taking away his baby boy.

John returned to the apartment unsure of how the news of JT’s death would affect Sam. And there was no doubting that JT was dead; John had seen his eyes turned heavenward in an unblinking stare in the moments before he had turned away.

Turning his back on the mayhem in the street John slowly walked back to the apartment. After he let himself into the apartment he secured the door behind me. No one else would be bothering the Winchesters that day.

John’s eyes immediately went to the top of the stairs. Dean was sitting on the topmost step with his arms around the frail shoulders of his younger brother. Sam was sobbing so hard John was afraid he was going to damage his healing lungs. He slowly climbed the steps and stopped in front of his sons.

John lifted Sam out of Dean’s arms and carried him back into the bedroom. He needed Sam to calm down or he was afraid they’d be returning the hospital any moment now.

Setting him carefully on his bed he rocked Sam against his chest while rubbing his back. “Sam, you need to calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.” John hoped the rocking motion combined with his voice would settle Sam down. Sam continued to sob as though his heart was broken.

“JT’s dead and he can’t hurt you now.” John assumed that Sam was traumatized by hearing the voice of the man who had left him for dead. John could feel the tremors wracking Sam’s body starting to slow and his sobs had turned to hiccups.

“I wanted him dead,” Sam said softly as his breathing rate slowed to a normal level, “so why don’t I feel any better? It hurts.”

John stilled his rocking and pulled Sam’s head up so he could look him in the face. The tear stained and ashen face of his distraught son. It hurt to see Sam in such distress.

“What hurts Sammy?” Dean had positioned himself next to the bed in case Sam needed him. They’d just brought Sam home from the hospital and he didn’t want Sam to suffer a relapse; he wasn’t willing to let him out of his sight anytime soon.

Sam’s eyes slipped closed. The energy he’d expended had taken its toll and he now drifted into a troubled sleep.

John settled him into his bed and drew the blanket up, tenderly smoothing Sam’s bangs back. He sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and watched Sam’s even breathing. “He’s just sleeping.”

John thought Sam would recover physically but he wasn’t so sure about the mental scars. He made a promise to himself that he would put his sons, especially a now vulnerable Sam, first.

Dean watched his frail looking brother shift in his sleep. He would make sure Sam recovered. Sam once again needed him and he wasn’t going to let him down.

Finis

A/N:  (Information on Cernunnos from Wikipedia)
Thanks for reading this SFTCOL(AR)S Secret Santa fic for Annonie who wanted Sam, under the age of 18, captured by a monster or people looking for ransom…I put my own twist on it but hopefully Annonie enjoyed it. Did you?