Fic: Dean's Adventures in Babysitting: Forest for the Trees
Title: Dean’s Adventures in Babysitting: Forest for the Trees
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gen, past(Dean/Lisa)
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG
Genre: Post S05 (Disregard S06-08)
Word Count: 6,271
Warning: kid fic, OCs, BAMF!Dean, Parental!Dean, Cops, Lost and Found
Summary: The last thing Dean wanted to hear on a Sunday was that two of his kids were missing. But come Hell, high water, or dangerously observant cops, Dean was going to find them.
A/N: Timestamp to Dean’s Adventures in Babysitting.
*
Sunday morning Dean sleeps in. He doesn’t have his kids on Sunday and he uses this day to wallow in bed and remember what his life used to be like before his brother jumped in a box with the Devil riding inside him and his best friend went back to heaven with a shiny new badge and a shiny new gun. He drinks too much on Sundays, he sleeps too much on Sundays, and he can’t bear to look at his car lest he break his promise to Sammy and climb behind the wheel and just never stop driving.
Ben mostly just tries to stay out of his way on Sundays. Errol stays over pretty much all week anyway so the boys tend to entertain themselves and Lisa while Dean’s busy being depressed and alcoholic.
Ever since he started days with his kids (he refuses to use the term daycare) it had been universally acknowledged that Sundays were for family. The kids would stay home and hang with their parents and Dean would stay home and try not to shatter with the gaping hole in his heart where his ginormous baby brother used to be.
The parents knew this was Dean’s day away from the kids (even if they didn’t know exactly what he did with it) and they cherished the uninterrupted day with their kids before they had to go to work the next morning and the cycle started all over again.
So, with this routine established it was somewhat surprising when, at two o’clock in the afternoon, a third way through his bottle of whiskey and still in his boxers curled up in bed, Dean’s cellphone rings. It was his new cell. The one only Lisa, Ben, the parents of Dean’s kids, and Bobby knew the number of.
Dean grumbled, cursed and snatched the phone up before his ringtone of Metallica’s Am I Evil? could play through a third time.
A glance at the caller ID and he answered the phone with a puzzled frown. “Hello?”
“Dean?” Laurie Grant’s voice came over the line sounding choked and quivery and just all kinds of worried and wrong.
“Laurie.” Dean jolted up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Cary and Hugh,” she swallowed audibly and tried to modulated her voice into a semblance of composure, “They- they wouldn’t possibly be with you would they?”
Dean’s heart started to pump and his adrenaline was already sending him out of bed and snatching up the first set of moderately clean clothes he could get his hands on. “No, Laurie. They’re not with me. What happened?”
“I- they-” She stumbled over her words and Dean listened hard to the background to figure out where she was while she gathered her thoughts. He could hear numerous voices in the background, probably cops if the boys were missing, and he could hear Laurie’s ex-husband Frank, Cary and Hugh’s father, angrily arguing with someone with an official dry sounding voice. It sounded like the cops were establishing a base of operations. She was at home then and they were treating this as a kidnapping.
“I-I went to get them for b-breakfast this morning and their bedroom was empty, their window was open a-a-and-” She stuttered out and gave a few painful sounding hitching breaths before she continued. “I looked everywhere. I called Frank, I called all the other parents, I ran up and down the street calling for them but-…”
“Alright, Laurie. Calm down. You did good.” He soothed her through the phone as he fought to get his boots on. “We’ll get the boys back. Do everything the cops say and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He could hear her suck in a shuddering breath. “Thank you.” She gave a sob and the sound made Dean’s heart clench. “Thank you so much.”
“Ten minutes, Laurie.” Dean repeated before he hung up and strode from his whiskey and depression stale room and out of the house toward the Impala.
*
When he pulled up to the Grant’s house seven minutes and forty-two seconds later it was chaos. There were four cop cruisers parked on the street and people were streaming in and out of the front door on various errands. All of them with uniforms and badges and enough handcuffs that even Dean cringed at the through of having to pick his way out if it went south and he was recognized.
With that itch that all law enforcement gave him steadily building under his skin, Dean slipped his Colt .45 in the back of his pants, patted his left boot where his knife was secure to his leg and took a deep steadying breath. Two of his kids were missing, possibly kidnapped, possibly (and he was really hoping not) Monster-napped.
He was going to suck it up, do his goddamned job, and get his kids back.
Out of the Impala and across the street to the Grant’s font lawn Dean barely made it onto the grass before Laurie came rushing out of the house barreling straight into his chest.
“Dean! Dean, they’re gone!” She cried into his shoulder.
Stunned for a moment, Dean just wrapped his arms around her reflexively and patted her awkwardly on the back. “It’s alright, Laurie. We’ll get them back. I promise.”
He looked up from her blonde head buried against him and saw Frank, the boys’ father, watching them with a pinched look of jealousy and worry. Dean almost rolled his eyes.
If he had a nickel for every time he’d gotten the assessing, male dominance looks and crushing handshakes from his kids’ fathers he would be a very rich man.
Dean eased Laurie out of his arms and guided her back over to her ex-husband. “Frank.” He greeted and held out a hand.
He’d met Frank a number of times when the man had come to pick up Cary and Hugh on his days with them. He was a decent enough man if a little up tight. The guy was an honest to God tax accountant with a bow tie, sweater vest, and thick rimmed glasses that weren’t actually hipster because they looked like he’d had them since he was in high school.
Frank was a decent enough guy, so he shook Dean’s hand without the posturing. “Thanks for coming, Dean. You didn’t have to. I’m pretty sure the police have everything covered.”
Dean shrugged. “Hugh and Cary are under my protection part of the time. If I can do anything to help find them, I’m going to do it.”
Frank gave him another assessing look, but just nodded and turned away to lead the way back into the house.
Ever since Dean had stopped Sydney Strait from being abducted by a child molester in the park the parents starting looking at Dean less and less as the ruggedly male-model handsome nanny and started seeing him more and more for what he really is; a mysterious, highly trained ex-drifter that would protect their kids like a rabid mama-bear on steroids.
Inside the house it was like walking into the setup for Dean’s worst phobia… that wasn’t Hell or hellhound related. Everywhere he looked a cop was standing, sitting, drinking coffee, talking on the phone, or looking over the house for clues. All Dean could do was try not to act overly suspicious and hope none of them had paid too much attention to the FBI’s most wanted list about three years ago.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we can’t allow any outsiders into the investigation until we establish the cause for your sons’ disappearance.” A young detective that almost smelled green stepped up to them and looked like she was just itching for an excuse to arrest someone.
Laurie, apparently, didn’t like her much. “My sons are missing, Detective Boltz. They might be God knows where with God knows who and you want to tell me who I can and can’t have comforting me? I don’t think so, little missy!”
“Whoa!” Dean stepped between the women before Laurie started to physically take out her frustrations on the poor flustered detective with her lethally manicured talons and start a cat fight. Hot, but definitely not helpful at the moment. “It’s alright, Laurie. I’ll just have a cup of tea with you,” read: question you for information, “then I’ll get out of the cops’ way and let them do their thing,” read: conduct my own investigation cause the cops are incompetent.
Laurie read him perfectly and composed herself enough to sneer at the sputtering Detective and usher Dean into the kitchen before the cop could protest again.
Frank started the tea more as something to do than anybody really wanting any and watched closely as Laurie wilted from her indignation and seemed to want to crumble into herself.
“Do you really think you can help find my sons?” Frank asked when it didn’t seem like Laurie was going to say anything.
Dean figured it was best to be honest. There was something about Frank’s piercing, analyzing stare that said he would be able to tell if Dean was bullshitting him. The intensity of the look reminded Dean of Castiel.
He pushed down the pang of missing that thought brought up and turned back to business.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Not until I do some investigating. If it’s just a run of the mill kidnapper there isn’t much I can do that the cops won’t be able to.” He said and knew he would have to tread carefully over his next words. “But if it’s something else, I might be a bit more help than the cops.”
He got a confused look from Frank at that, but Laurie obviously didn’t care about parsing through the various implications and meanings of Dean’s words. She didn’t care about the minutia as long Cary and Hugh were brought back to her.
Dean sighed and decided that he had better start asking his questions before that young detective got her shit together enough to alert a superior to the outsider in the Grant’s kitchen.
“Laurie, it’s very important that you answer my questions very honestly. I know they’ll be a little weird, but anything, even if you think it can’t possibly be related, might be important.”
“I know. I went through this already with the cops.” Laurie took a deep steadying breath and nodded that she was ready. “I’ll do my best.”
“Have there been any flickering lights, cold spots, strange skittering noises in the walls? Things being moved or gone missing? Drawers or cabinets left open or dumped?” Laurie definitely looked taken aback by Dean’s line of questioning, but she steeled herself to answer, her resolve to find her children stronger than her reserve about the oddity of the questions.
“I had to change a light bulb in the living room yesterday, I keep the air conditioning at a constant seventy-four in the summer, and this morning I was trying to get breakfast ready and found an entire box of pop tarts and a box of Zebra Cakes missing from the pantry.”
She answered his questions succinctly and gravely as if the information would somehow be the magic clue to lead them straight to Cary and Hugh. Frank looked like he wanted to question their validity, but he kept his silence with a small skeptical frown on his face.
Dean felt a bit of his clenched muscles loosen, but not much. It wasn’t a ghost or poltergeist then. There was still child eating monsters, sadistic demons, and perverted humans to rule out.
“Have any neighborhood pets gone missing? Have you heard odd noises in the woods in your backyard? Seen anything that looked not quite right to be an animal lurking around out there or around the house?” He’s almost positive if kids and pets had started missing recently he would have noticed since he’d been keeping an eye on the area, but it never hurts to ask.
“Mrs. Figgs’ cat, Mitsy, got run over last week and the boys found a possum in our outside grill two nights ago.” Laurie answered quick and clear, her hands gripping the counter behind her hard, her eyes trained unwaveringly on Dean, waiting impatiently for the next round of questioning.
“How about smells?” Dean asked knowing that if any of Laurie’s answers were in the affirmative then they had a major problem on their hands. “Smell any sulfur or rotten eggs? Anyone being overly friendly to you or the boys? See anyone whose eyes seemed to flash black or red? Even for an instant, so fast that you think it’s a trick of the light?”
Please say, no. Please say, no. Dean chanted in head as he waited for Laurie to speak. He could take down a demon, fuck knows he’s had enough experience with them, but when has any demon been just wreaking havoc for the hell of it lately. No, it’s almost always been part of a bigger, badder plot the last few years. Dean’s not sure he can deal with something like that after everything; after the freaking Apocalypse.
“No!” Laurie huffed seeming to have suddenly lost her cobbled together calm. “Nothing like that. No people, no smells, no eyes, nothing! There’s absolutely nothing and I don’t- I don’t know what- How could they just be gone!?”
Dean spared a split second to be thankful for having his demon questions answered with vehement no’s, but quickly turned his attention back to comforting Laurie.
“Alright. It’s not your fault and we will get them back, Laurie.” He said as he wrapped steadying hands around her arms and forced her to look into his eyes. “I promise you, Laurie, if the cops don’t find your boys, I will.”
She took a stuttering breath then nodded shakily. “Okay. Alright. What else?” Frank looked utterly pessimistic with skepticism and downright frustrated as he tried to work out how most of Dean’s questions pertained in any way to his missing boys. One determined, steely, slightly desperate glare from Laurie silenced him before he could even open his mouth to demand answers of his own.
Good girl. Dean’s lips twitched wanting to smile. “Now I need to get a look at the boys’ room.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Grant.”
Dean felt his muscles clench at that commanding voice and quickly released Laurie turning to see the detective from the park standing in the doorway. Detective Hart, the one that had recognized Dean and subsequently turned a blind eye.
His heart suddenly pounding with the knowledge that he was now walking a very tight rope, Dean schooled his face into a picture of innocent, concerned neighbor and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible. By Detective Hart’s stiff stance and guarded expression, Dean would say he probably failed rather miserably.
“I apologize for my partner’s attitude earlier, Mrs. Grant, but I really must insist that all nonfamily members stay outside of the investigation.” Hart said, his eyes not leaving Dean for more than the second it took to acknowledge the worried parents in the room.
Laurie opened her mouth to protest again, but Frank seemed to have picked up on the tense atmosphere between the other two men and put a silencing hand on her shoulder. “Of course, Detective. Dean was just coming to give my wife some support.”
“I was just about to leave anyway.” Dean spoke up deciding that a strategic retreat would benefit him more than running the risk of Hart arresting him for being a dead murderer, always in the wrong place at the wrong time. He gave Laurie a quick hug, whispering that he was going to keep investigating in her ear before he pulled away and returned her relieved, thankful smile. He shook Frank’s hand and turned to Detective Hart with unrevealing neutrality on his face.
“I’ll walk you out.” Hart said, obviously not giving up the opening and turned to lead the way out the front door. They walked in silence and came to a stop just off the porch; front yard seemingly deserted the rest of the fuzz inside or off doing police-like things.
“Mr. Campbell,” Hart greeted him warily. “What is your business with the Grants?” His voice was level and grave, his stance adjusted just enough to telegraph that if he didn’t like Dean’s answer he was ready to attempt to put him in cuffs.
Dean sighed and rubbed a tired hand through his hair. He was really getting tired of having to run from the cops. “Laurie called me this morning asking if the boys were over at mine. I drove over to offer my help in finding them.”
Hart’s brows furrowed, but he nodded. “Ignoring the fact that I’m pretty sure you’re a dead serial killer, why would you care about the Grants’ boys enough to risk possible exposure and arrest?”
“I’m sure you’ve been doing your homework since the last time we met.” Dean said with confidence. “If you’re half the detective I think you are, you’ve found the massive holes in that joke of an FBI file. You know I’m innocent.” Grimacing he amended. “Or at least innocent of murder.”
Hart looked like just having this conversation was going to give him an ulcer. Dean knew the feeling. “Be that as it may, you still didn’t answer my question, Mr. Campbell. Why are you here, why do you care, and what could you possible do that we can’t to find those boys?”
This was tricky. Dean was going to choose his words very carefully if he didn’t want to be slapped in a straightjacket, cuffed in the back of a squad car, or just plain shot.
“I care about Cary and Hugh, because I spend Monday through Friday, eight-thirty to five, and Saturday, ten to three, with them and seven other kids. I’m here because they are under my protection, they are my kids, and nobody and nothing messes with my kids.” He said throwing caution to the wind and not even trying to bottle up the righteous fury and protective possessiveness sharpening his words. “And I’m going to find those boys, because, from what I can tell, you’ve got jack for leads and this is what I’ve been trained to do since I was four years old.”
Dean’s words had planted themselves in the yard between the two men like pikes, strong and bold and dangerous. Detective Hart didn’t respond, waging an internal debated. There was a long moment of silence before Hart seemed to come to a decision.
He knew the statistical likelihood of finding the boys alive after twenty-four hours. He knew that even now the likely hood of even finding them alive was quickly dwindling by the minute. Hart knew that they had precisely what Campbell said they had; jack with a side order of shit.
If they had a hope of finding those boys before they chances of survival dwindled to nothing it was time to think outside the box. Well, you couldn’t get more outside the box than Dean Campbell.
When he finally spoke he was not asking a question. “You’ve already questioned Mrs. Grant. You mentioned needing to see the boys’ room.”
Dean could have sworn his brain had paused in shock. Recovering quickly Dean nodded. “I need to look for clues myself. No offense, but cops don’t really know to look for the things I look for.”
Hart didn’t look like he took offense, but there was a warning against any truly disparaging words from Dean in his eyes. “Civilians aren’t allowed in active crime scenes, much less deceased suspected serial killers.”
Huffing in frustration and rubbing agitatedly at his hair, Dean almost missed the leading look on Hart’s face.
“As such, I will be grabbing a file from my car for the next,” he glanced down at his watch, “seven and a half minutes. Their room is upstairs, second window on the left side of the house.”
Dean wasted five seconds watching, stunned, as Hart strolled leisurely to his car parked across the street before he kicked himself into gear and darted around the left side of the house, scurrying up the old oak tree that reached up to the open window on the second floor.
Climbing into Cary and Hugh’s room, Dean noticed several things first. No sulfur on the windowsill. No smell of ozone in the air. No signs of a struggle. And absolutely no blood. All four very good signs.
The room was relatively neat, just a few toys scattered on the floor, beds unmade, and a couple of books lying open face down on one of the matching bedside tables. If it weren’t for the fact that the boys were missing, there wouldn’t have been anything wrong with this scene.
Dean stepped deeper into the room and took a closer look. The boys had to share a closet, but it seemed fairly evenly divided, their mom obviously the one doing most of the putting away and tidying up. There were almost miniature sized matching desks on either side of the room and above them cork boards with pictures and drawings and various mementos stuck to them.
Striding over to one of the boards Dean scanned the pictures. Most of them seemed to be from several different Boy Scout outings, Cary and Hugh dressed in their uniforms with Frank or other chaperones posing with them. In one picture in particular the boys, in plain clothes, with Frank and Laurie were standing in front of a cliff rising high behind them. Cary and Hugh were grinning from ear to ear each brandishing a brand-new Leatherman set with utility knives, flashlights and compasses all fitted neatly into the individual pockets. Their parents looked proud and they all looked undeniably happy.
Unpinning the picture, Dean flipped it over.
Hugh, Cary, Mom, and Dad, 7th Birthday Family Campout
A quick calculation in his head and Dean cursed. It wouldn’t have been long after this picture was taken that Frank moved out and the divorce was finalized. This picture is the last photographic proof of an outwardly happy and whole family.
Flipping it back over, Dean searched the picture for clues as to where it was taken. A quick scan and he’d seen enough, he let out a sigh of relief. He could just barely see the railing of a deck at the top of the cliff in the corner of the picture. This was in the greenbelt, right behind the Grant’s house. It separated two halves of the neighborhood; the more expensive houses were perched on top of the cliffs overlooking the greenbelt.
Discarding the picture and turning back to the room, Dean looked it over again with searching eyes. On the bookshelf there were two Leatherman shaped dust voids next to a wooden model t-rex, in the closet there were two empty places in the lineup of shoes, and glancing at the desks Dean noticed that instead of standard clutter it seemed like the kids had completely emptied their school books out onto their desks; their backpacks were nowhere to be found.
Dean was pretty sure he knew why the pop tarts and Zebra Cakes had gone missing from the kitchen as well. Can’t go camping without provisions, after all.
Great. At least now he knew for sure it wasn’t a monster, ghost, demon, or pervert that had taken the boys. The boys weren’t taken at all.
Through the window and down the tree, he was almost to his car before Hart caught up to him.
“Campbell!” Hart called after him and chased him to the Impala. “Campbell, what are you doing?”
Dean spared him a quickly look before popping the trunk and snatching Sam’s duffle up, unzipping it to dump the clothes out. He hadn’t touched the thing since Stull, the memories too fresh and painful, but he didn’t have time to angst over the neatly packed memorial to his brother. Cary and Hugh were running out of time.
“I’ve got a lead.” He replied curtly.
“What lead?” Hart demanded, impatient and mildly alarmed. “What are you doing?”
“I think I might know where Hugh and Cary are.” Dean said as he rested his battered first aid kit from its compartment in the trunk and rustled up a couple of weathered canteens from the disorganized depths, before stuffing it all and a ratty slightly stained motel blanket into the duffle, zipping it up. He had half a mind to grab more ammo or at least a sawed-off just for paranoia’s sake, but Detective Hart was practically breathing down his neck and he didn’t want to deal with the massive worms that opened can would release.
“Campbell, you can’t just go off after them. We have to confirm and strategize and-”
“And waste time, yeah, I know how the burocratic red tape works. Even for a supposed kidnapping case.” Dean cut him off and slammed the trunk shut before darting back across the street and back over into the Grants’ yard. Hart following him all the way to the outside faucet where the garden hose was hooked up.
“Wait. Supposed? How do you know it’s not a kidnapping?” Hart asked as he watched Dean turn on the faucet and start rinsing out and refilling the canteens. It seemed like the last thing they’d held was just water, which Dean was grateful for. He didn’t want to have to trek after two seven year old boys without two filled canteens because they’d been permanently stained with noxious, ass tasting, anti-hex juice or something.
“I don’t.” Dean finished filling up the second canteen and turned off the water, shoving the canteens back into the duffle. “I’m following a lead that would suggest that it’s not a kidnapping. But just in case, you should hold the fort in case there’s a ransom call or something, eh?”
Dean stood and slapped a mockingly companionable hand on Hart’s shoulder before he turned away and started around the side of the house to the backyard.
He didn’t quite make it that far before Hart lost his patience with Dean’s reticence. He grabbed him executing a shockingly fast maneuver and slammed Dean up against the side of the house with a forearm, steely and immovable across his chest.
Dean was taller than Hart by a few inches, but that didn’t do anything to detract from the threat clear in the older man’s brown eyes.
“Explain yourself now, Campbell, or I will personally arrest you for tampering with a crime scene and impeding a police investigation.”
Stunned frozen for a moment, Dean concentrated on remaining loose and nonthreatening. When Hart didn’t let up, Dean weighed his options and went with the road he traveled the least.
“There were no signs of a struggle; no blood, or broken furniture. The boys are Boy Scouts and were given Leatherman’s for their last birthday. Both sets were missing from their shelf along with their backpacks, and a pair each of their shoes. Laurie told me earlier that a box of pop tarts and Zebra Cakes were missing from her pantry this morning.” He took a breath and gave the last piece of evidence that would supply a motive to the means. “The boys both have a picture of them together with their parents camping in the greenbelt for their birthday. The last family picture taken before Laurie and Frank finalized their divorce.”
Detective Hart stood silent and frozen, his arm keeping Dean from moving, for a long moment as he processed all that Dean Campbell had just told him.
“And you got all of that from little more than five minutes in the boys’ room.” He stated, grave and dry.
Dean shrugged under his hold. “Usually I’m working with a couple of obscure newspaper articles, completely unhelpful witnesses, and evidence contaminated by so many people I wouldn’t be able to tell a dusting of sulfur from dust motes if I snorted it up my nose.”
Hart had absolutely no idea what Dean had just said, but he’d gotten the general gist. Stepping back from Campbell he eyed him sternly. “You still can’t be sure it’s not a kidnapping.”
“You’re right.” Dean said, adjusting his duffle on his shoulder and turning back toward the greenbelt on the other side of the back gate. “That’s why I’m going to investigate this totally unreliable lead and you are going to stay here with the real detectives.”
Hart wasn’t so sure he liked the note of sarcasm in Dean’s voice, but he didn’t protest, just watched Dean vault over the back gate with little effort. He sighed, resigned.
“At least let me give you my number so you can call if you find them.”
One of Dean’s hands waved dismissively through the air above the gate from the other side. “Already got it, Sargent Friday. You ain’t the only one that does his homework.”
Dean Campbell disappeared entirely with those last words and Hart rubbed at his face tiredly. He hoped to hell he wasn’t wrong to trust Campbell with this. He hoped his gut instinct screaming that the file on the Winchesters was just all kinds of conflicting circumstantial evidence and too quickly disregarded witness statements wasn’t wrong either.
Two little boys’ lives depended on it.
*
Dean followed the rough trail through three wrong turns, two dead ends, one abrupt drop off, and one jump across a small creek. Finally three hours later, Dean came out of the trees to a small ravine with a mostly dry creek bed running through the middle and moderately sized cliffs rising up on either side.
He was in the right place.
Looking to the cliff on his right he scanned its craggy sides till he saw something that looked familiar from the picture. Halfway up the rock was a smallish cave nearly covered by a tenacious mountain laurel that was clinging to the side of the cliff. Now, if he was a couple of frustrated depressed seven year old boys trying to recapture a time when their family was whole and their parents were still together, then that little cave right there would be where Dean would hide out.
It took twenty minutes to find the trail that looked like only fearless kids and mountain goats would even think about traversing. It took Dean another forty-five minutes to pick and climb his way up the side of the cliff. When he finally made it to the out cropping Dean’s legs were shaking and he was forcefully reminded why he hated camping and heights.
Absolutely refusing to look over the edge and back down into the little creek bed, Dean dropped his duffle off his shoulder and turned his attention to the inside of the cave.
“I got to tell you, dudes. You two sure know how to find a hiding place.”
“Dean!” Hugh and Cary shouted in surprise looking simultaneously relieved, miserable and guilty.
“Yeah.” Dean sighed, in equal relief to find the boys actually there, intact and seemingly unharmed. “Yeah, it’s me.”
It didn’t take very long to assess any damage the boys might have accrued during their little runaway camping adventure. Cary had a lightly sprained ankle from the climb up and Hugh had a tummy ache from too many Zebra Cakes and no water.
Dean wrapped Cary’s ankle in an ace bandage from his med kit and made both boys drink at least half of the canteens before giving Hugh an antacid to settle his stomach. All in all, the whole ordeal seemed more traumatizing than damaging. The boys were quiet through the triage and when everything settled down once more there was a long awkward silence like they were just waiting to be reprimanded.
Shifting to sit against the cave wall between the boys, Dean stretched out his legs and sipped from one of the canteens before putting the boys out of their anticipatory misery and breaking the silence.
“Do you guys want to tell me why you decided to go camping in the middle of the night?” He asked leadingly, not sounding particularly angry like other adults would. Just curious and maybe a little understanding.
Hugh took in a shuddering breath and looked down at his dirty hands when he spoke. “We just wanted it to go back to the way it was.” He said. “When mom and dad still liked each other.”
Dean’s heart gave a little pang at the sadness in the little boy’s voice.
“We went camping here just before Dad moved out.” Cary continued. “We thought…”
“We thought that maybe if we went camping out here again it would all just…”
“Go away?” Dean finished for the boys quietly. They looked at him sadly then looked back down at their hands. “You guys know that no matter what your mom and dad love you, right?”
Hugh huffed like that was a stupid question. “Yeah, we know.” He said rolling his eyes before sobering. “They just don’t love each other anymore.”
And that, Dean figured, was the crux of the matter. The boys just wanted their family back together. They didn’t want to have to divide their time between two houses. They wanted to wake up in the morning to their mom and their dad making breakfast. They wanted to spend Saturdays hiking through the greenbelt with their dad pointing out wildlife and their mom snapping pictures all the while.
Dean could recite exorcisms from memory in four dead languages, rebuild a ‘67 Chevy from the ground up, kill demons and angels, cheat death hundreds of times, and save the world from the biblical apocalypse. But he couldn’t get Cary and Hugh’s parents back together.
It made him feel kind of useless.
Rubbing tiredly at his face, Dean wrapped his arms around the boys’ shoulders and pulled them against his sides. They collapsed against him like he was only thing keeping them upright underneath all this pain and sadness their parents’ divorce layered on them. The thought made his heart hurt.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you with that.” He told them sincerely. “I can’t tell you why your mom and dad stopped being in love, but I can tell you that they are worried sick about you both right now.”
He felt the boys’ bony little shoulders hunch in shame against his ribs.
“What do you say I take you guys back home? I think you guys have had enough adventure for one day.”
There was a small pause, before Cary and Hugh nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Dean gave them a reassuring squeeze before pushing them both up to standing and beginning the logistics of trekking back down the cliff to the ground and through the forest home.
Hugh and Dean both helped Cary limp his way down the cliff trail, it was slow going. Dean had to pace himself to two injured, exhausted, and inexperienced seven year olds. When they finally hit the bottom an hour later all three of them were tired and not looking forward to the walk home.
Surprisingly enough, however, with Hugh carrying his and his brother’s backpacks and Dean carrying his duffle with Cary on his back to spare further aggravating the boy’s ankle the trip was quicker than Dean had estimated.
Two hours later, Dean could hear the sounds of suburban life once again and he figured he should probably contact Detective Hart to tell him the boys were okay.
A frustratingly vague text message from an unknown number was all the warning Hart received before he was watching through the living room windows as a dead suspected serial killer escorted the Grants’ missing children out of the greenbelt in the backyard.
boys ok. c u n 5.
Laurie spent all of a split second being shocked immobile before she almost broke her own backdoor down to get to her kids, her ex-husband, Frank, not more than a step behind her.
By the time Hart and the rest of the cops got outside Laurie and Frank were on their knees holding their sons and holding each other and all four of them were saying things like:
“We were so worried.”
“We’re sorry.”
“Love you so much.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“We won’t, we won’t.”
And all through the heart warming reunion Dean Campbell stood back watching the scene like it was all the reward he would ever need. Like just the fact that he could bring Cary and Hugh back to their parents, bring Laurie and Frank’s boys back home, was what made his entire life worth it.
Hart watched it all and suddenly little bits and pieces of the slipshod puzzle that was the FBI file on the Winchesters started to make complete sense. It felt like he’d been trying to figure out a jigsaw with the middle pieces all turned upside down, but now that some of them were right side up, the picture was starting to look clearer and clearer.
“Sir, should we arrest him?” Detective Boltz was so green she smelled like it, but she was a good cop and Hart knew she had plenty of promise. She just needed to learn that “the book” didn’t always have all the answers.
“No, Detective.” Hart said, his eyes still pinned on Dean as Laurie finally composed herself enough to reach up and grab onto one of his hands and start thanking him so profusely and earnestly that the poor guy’s face looked it was about to catch fire he was blushing so hard.
“It looks like, today, Mr. Campbell is the hero.”
*
End.
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gen, past(Dean/Lisa)
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG
Genre: Post S05 (Disregard S06-08)
Word Count: 6,271
Warning: kid fic, OCs, BAMF!Dean, Parental!Dean, Cops, Lost and Found
Summary: The last thing Dean wanted to hear on a Sunday was that two of his kids were missing. But come Hell, high water, or dangerously observant cops, Dean was going to find them.
A/N: Timestamp to Dean’s Adventures in Babysitting.
*
Sunday morning Dean sleeps in. He doesn’t have his kids on Sunday and he uses this day to wallow in bed and remember what his life used to be like before his brother jumped in a box with the Devil riding inside him and his best friend went back to heaven with a shiny new badge and a shiny new gun. He drinks too much on Sundays, he sleeps too much on Sundays, and he can’t bear to look at his car lest he break his promise to Sammy and climb behind the wheel and just never stop driving.
Ben mostly just tries to stay out of his way on Sundays. Errol stays over pretty much all week anyway so the boys tend to entertain themselves and Lisa while Dean’s busy being depressed and alcoholic.
Ever since he started days with his kids (he refuses to use the term daycare) it had been universally acknowledged that Sundays were for family. The kids would stay home and hang with their parents and Dean would stay home and try not to shatter with the gaping hole in his heart where his ginormous baby brother used to be.
The parents knew this was Dean’s day away from the kids (even if they didn’t know exactly what he did with it) and they cherished the uninterrupted day with their kids before they had to go to work the next morning and the cycle started all over again.
So, with this routine established it was somewhat surprising when, at two o’clock in the afternoon, a third way through his bottle of whiskey and still in his boxers curled up in bed, Dean’s cellphone rings. It was his new cell. The one only Lisa, Ben, the parents of Dean’s kids, and Bobby knew the number of.
Dean grumbled, cursed and snatched the phone up before his ringtone of Metallica’s Am I Evil? could play through a third time.
A glance at the caller ID and he answered the phone with a puzzled frown. “Hello?”
“Dean?” Laurie Grant’s voice came over the line sounding choked and quivery and just all kinds of worried and wrong.
“Laurie.” Dean jolted up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Cary and Hugh,” she swallowed audibly and tried to modulated her voice into a semblance of composure, “They- they wouldn’t possibly be with you would they?”
Dean’s heart started to pump and his adrenaline was already sending him out of bed and snatching up the first set of moderately clean clothes he could get his hands on. “No, Laurie. They’re not with me. What happened?”
“I- they-” She stumbled over her words and Dean listened hard to the background to figure out where she was while she gathered her thoughts. He could hear numerous voices in the background, probably cops if the boys were missing, and he could hear Laurie’s ex-husband Frank, Cary and Hugh’s father, angrily arguing with someone with an official dry sounding voice. It sounded like the cops were establishing a base of operations. She was at home then and they were treating this as a kidnapping.
“I-I went to get them for b-breakfast this morning and their bedroom was empty, their window was open a-a-and-” She stuttered out and gave a few painful sounding hitching breaths before she continued. “I looked everywhere. I called Frank, I called all the other parents, I ran up and down the street calling for them but-…”
“Alright, Laurie. Calm down. You did good.” He soothed her through the phone as he fought to get his boots on. “We’ll get the boys back. Do everything the cops say and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He could hear her suck in a shuddering breath. “Thank you.” She gave a sob and the sound made Dean’s heart clench. “Thank you so much.”
“Ten minutes, Laurie.” Dean repeated before he hung up and strode from his whiskey and depression stale room and out of the house toward the Impala.
*
When he pulled up to the Grant’s house seven minutes and forty-two seconds later it was chaos. There were four cop cruisers parked on the street and people were streaming in and out of the front door on various errands. All of them with uniforms and badges and enough handcuffs that even Dean cringed at the through of having to pick his way out if it went south and he was recognized.
With that itch that all law enforcement gave him steadily building under his skin, Dean slipped his Colt .45 in the back of his pants, patted his left boot where his knife was secure to his leg and took a deep steadying breath. Two of his kids were missing, possibly kidnapped, possibly (and he was really hoping not) Monster-napped.
He was going to suck it up, do his goddamned job, and get his kids back.
Out of the Impala and across the street to the Grant’s font lawn Dean barely made it onto the grass before Laurie came rushing out of the house barreling straight into his chest.
“Dean! Dean, they’re gone!” She cried into his shoulder.
Stunned for a moment, Dean just wrapped his arms around her reflexively and patted her awkwardly on the back. “It’s alright, Laurie. We’ll get them back. I promise.”
He looked up from her blonde head buried against him and saw Frank, the boys’ father, watching them with a pinched look of jealousy and worry. Dean almost rolled his eyes.
If he had a nickel for every time he’d gotten the assessing, male dominance looks and crushing handshakes from his kids’ fathers he would be a very rich man.
Dean eased Laurie out of his arms and guided her back over to her ex-husband. “Frank.” He greeted and held out a hand.
He’d met Frank a number of times when the man had come to pick up Cary and Hugh on his days with them. He was a decent enough man if a little up tight. The guy was an honest to God tax accountant with a bow tie, sweater vest, and thick rimmed glasses that weren’t actually hipster because they looked like he’d had them since he was in high school.
Frank was a decent enough guy, so he shook Dean’s hand without the posturing. “Thanks for coming, Dean. You didn’t have to. I’m pretty sure the police have everything covered.”
Dean shrugged. “Hugh and Cary are under my protection part of the time. If I can do anything to help find them, I’m going to do it.”
Frank gave him another assessing look, but just nodded and turned away to lead the way back into the house.
Ever since Dean had stopped Sydney Strait from being abducted by a child molester in the park the parents starting looking at Dean less and less as the ruggedly male-model handsome nanny and started seeing him more and more for what he really is; a mysterious, highly trained ex-drifter that would protect their kids like a rabid mama-bear on steroids.
Inside the house it was like walking into the setup for Dean’s worst phobia… that wasn’t Hell or hellhound related. Everywhere he looked a cop was standing, sitting, drinking coffee, talking on the phone, or looking over the house for clues. All Dean could do was try not to act overly suspicious and hope none of them had paid too much attention to the FBI’s most wanted list about three years ago.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we can’t allow any outsiders into the investigation until we establish the cause for your sons’ disappearance.” A young detective that almost smelled green stepped up to them and looked like she was just itching for an excuse to arrest someone.
Laurie, apparently, didn’t like her much. “My sons are missing, Detective Boltz. They might be God knows where with God knows who and you want to tell me who I can and can’t have comforting me? I don’t think so, little missy!”
“Whoa!” Dean stepped between the women before Laurie started to physically take out her frustrations on the poor flustered detective with her lethally manicured talons and start a cat fight. Hot, but definitely not helpful at the moment. “It’s alright, Laurie. I’ll just have a cup of tea with you,” read: question you for information, “then I’ll get out of the cops’ way and let them do their thing,” read: conduct my own investigation cause the cops are incompetent.
Laurie read him perfectly and composed herself enough to sneer at the sputtering Detective and usher Dean into the kitchen before the cop could protest again.
Frank started the tea more as something to do than anybody really wanting any and watched closely as Laurie wilted from her indignation and seemed to want to crumble into herself.
“Do you really think you can help find my sons?” Frank asked when it didn’t seem like Laurie was going to say anything.
Dean figured it was best to be honest. There was something about Frank’s piercing, analyzing stare that said he would be able to tell if Dean was bullshitting him. The intensity of the look reminded Dean of Castiel.
He pushed down the pang of missing that thought brought up and turned back to business.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Not until I do some investigating. If it’s just a run of the mill kidnapper there isn’t much I can do that the cops won’t be able to.” He said and knew he would have to tread carefully over his next words. “But if it’s something else, I might be a bit more help than the cops.”
He got a confused look from Frank at that, but Laurie obviously didn’t care about parsing through the various implications and meanings of Dean’s words. She didn’t care about the minutia as long Cary and Hugh were brought back to her.
Dean sighed and decided that he had better start asking his questions before that young detective got her shit together enough to alert a superior to the outsider in the Grant’s kitchen.
“Laurie, it’s very important that you answer my questions very honestly. I know they’ll be a little weird, but anything, even if you think it can’t possibly be related, might be important.”
“I know. I went through this already with the cops.” Laurie took a deep steadying breath and nodded that she was ready. “I’ll do my best.”
“Have there been any flickering lights, cold spots, strange skittering noises in the walls? Things being moved or gone missing? Drawers or cabinets left open or dumped?” Laurie definitely looked taken aback by Dean’s line of questioning, but she steeled herself to answer, her resolve to find her children stronger than her reserve about the oddity of the questions.
“I had to change a light bulb in the living room yesterday, I keep the air conditioning at a constant seventy-four in the summer, and this morning I was trying to get breakfast ready and found an entire box of pop tarts and a box of Zebra Cakes missing from the pantry.”
She answered his questions succinctly and gravely as if the information would somehow be the magic clue to lead them straight to Cary and Hugh. Frank looked like he wanted to question their validity, but he kept his silence with a small skeptical frown on his face.
Dean felt a bit of his clenched muscles loosen, but not much. It wasn’t a ghost or poltergeist then. There was still child eating monsters, sadistic demons, and perverted humans to rule out.
“Have any neighborhood pets gone missing? Have you heard odd noises in the woods in your backyard? Seen anything that looked not quite right to be an animal lurking around out there or around the house?” He’s almost positive if kids and pets had started missing recently he would have noticed since he’d been keeping an eye on the area, but it never hurts to ask.
“Mrs. Figgs’ cat, Mitsy, got run over last week and the boys found a possum in our outside grill two nights ago.” Laurie answered quick and clear, her hands gripping the counter behind her hard, her eyes trained unwaveringly on Dean, waiting impatiently for the next round of questioning.
“How about smells?” Dean asked knowing that if any of Laurie’s answers were in the affirmative then they had a major problem on their hands. “Smell any sulfur or rotten eggs? Anyone being overly friendly to you or the boys? See anyone whose eyes seemed to flash black or red? Even for an instant, so fast that you think it’s a trick of the light?”
Please say, no. Please say, no. Dean chanted in head as he waited for Laurie to speak. He could take down a demon, fuck knows he’s had enough experience with them, but when has any demon been just wreaking havoc for the hell of it lately. No, it’s almost always been part of a bigger, badder plot the last few years. Dean’s not sure he can deal with something like that after everything; after the freaking Apocalypse.
“No!” Laurie huffed seeming to have suddenly lost her cobbled together calm. “Nothing like that. No people, no smells, no eyes, nothing! There’s absolutely nothing and I don’t- I don’t know what- How could they just be gone!?”
Dean spared a split second to be thankful for having his demon questions answered with vehement no’s, but quickly turned his attention back to comforting Laurie.
“Alright. It’s not your fault and we will get them back, Laurie.” He said as he wrapped steadying hands around her arms and forced her to look into his eyes. “I promise you, Laurie, if the cops don’t find your boys, I will.”
She took a stuttering breath then nodded shakily. “Okay. Alright. What else?” Frank looked utterly pessimistic with skepticism and downright frustrated as he tried to work out how most of Dean’s questions pertained in any way to his missing boys. One determined, steely, slightly desperate glare from Laurie silenced him before he could even open his mouth to demand answers of his own.
Good girl. Dean’s lips twitched wanting to smile. “Now I need to get a look at the boys’ room.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Grant.”
Dean felt his muscles clench at that commanding voice and quickly released Laurie turning to see the detective from the park standing in the doorway. Detective Hart, the one that had recognized Dean and subsequently turned a blind eye.
His heart suddenly pounding with the knowledge that he was now walking a very tight rope, Dean schooled his face into a picture of innocent, concerned neighbor and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible. By Detective Hart’s stiff stance and guarded expression, Dean would say he probably failed rather miserably.
“I apologize for my partner’s attitude earlier, Mrs. Grant, but I really must insist that all nonfamily members stay outside of the investigation.” Hart said, his eyes not leaving Dean for more than the second it took to acknowledge the worried parents in the room.
Laurie opened her mouth to protest again, but Frank seemed to have picked up on the tense atmosphere between the other two men and put a silencing hand on her shoulder. “Of course, Detective. Dean was just coming to give my wife some support.”
“I was just about to leave anyway.” Dean spoke up deciding that a strategic retreat would benefit him more than running the risk of Hart arresting him for being a dead murderer, always in the wrong place at the wrong time. He gave Laurie a quick hug, whispering that he was going to keep investigating in her ear before he pulled away and returned her relieved, thankful smile. He shook Frank’s hand and turned to Detective Hart with unrevealing neutrality on his face.
“I’ll walk you out.” Hart said, obviously not giving up the opening and turned to lead the way out the front door. They walked in silence and came to a stop just off the porch; front yard seemingly deserted the rest of the fuzz inside or off doing police-like things.
“Mr. Campbell,” Hart greeted him warily. “What is your business with the Grants?” His voice was level and grave, his stance adjusted just enough to telegraph that if he didn’t like Dean’s answer he was ready to attempt to put him in cuffs.
Dean sighed and rubbed a tired hand through his hair. He was really getting tired of having to run from the cops. “Laurie called me this morning asking if the boys were over at mine. I drove over to offer my help in finding them.”
Hart’s brows furrowed, but he nodded. “Ignoring the fact that I’m pretty sure you’re a dead serial killer, why would you care about the Grants’ boys enough to risk possible exposure and arrest?”
“I’m sure you’ve been doing your homework since the last time we met.” Dean said with confidence. “If you’re half the detective I think you are, you’ve found the massive holes in that joke of an FBI file. You know I’m innocent.” Grimacing he amended. “Or at least innocent of murder.”
Hart looked like just having this conversation was going to give him an ulcer. Dean knew the feeling. “Be that as it may, you still didn’t answer my question, Mr. Campbell. Why are you here, why do you care, and what could you possible do that we can’t to find those boys?”
This was tricky. Dean was going to choose his words very carefully if he didn’t want to be slapped in a straightjacket, cuffed in the back of a squad car, or just plain shot.
“I care about Cary and Hugh, because I spend Monday through Friday, eight-thirty to five, and Saturday, ten to three, with them and seven other kids. I’m here because they are under my protection, they are my kids, and nobody and nothing messes with my kids.” He said throwing caution to the wind and not even trying to bottle up the righteous fury and protective possessiveness sharpening his words. “And I’m going to find those boys, because, from what I can tell, you’ve got jack for leads and this is what I’ve been trained to do since I was four years old.”
Dean’s words had planted themselves in the yard between the two men like pikes, strong and bold and dangerous. Detective Hart didn’t respond, waging an internal debated. There was a long moment of silence before Hart seemed to come to a decision.
He knew the statistical likelihood of finding the boys alive after twenty-four hours. He knew that even now the likely hood of even finding them alive was quickly dwindling by the minute. Hart knew that they had precisely what Campbell said they had; jack with a side order of shit.
If they had a hope of finding those boys before they chances of survival dwindled to nothing it was time to think outside the box. Well, you couldn’t get more outside the box than Dean Campbell.
When he finally spoke he was not asking a question. “You’ve already questioned Mrs. Grant. You mentioned needing to see the boys’ room.”
Dean could have sworn his brain had paused in shock. Recovering quickly Dean nodded. “I need to look for clues myself. No offense, but cops don’t really know to look for the things I look for.”
Hart didn’t look like he took offense, but there was a warning against any truly disparaging words from Dean in his eyes. “Civilians aren’t allowed in active crime scenes, much less deceased suspected serial killers.”
Huffing in frustration and rubbing agitatedly at his hair, Dean almost missed the leading look on Hart’s face.
“As such, I will be grabbing a file from my car for the next,” he glanced down at his watch, “seven and a half minutes. Their room is upstairs, second window on the left side of the house.”
Dean wasted five seconds watching, stunned, as Hart strolled leisurely to his car parked across the street before he kicked himself into gear and darted around the left side of the house, scurrying up the old oak tree that reached up to the open window on the second floor.
Climbing into Cary and Hugh’s room, Dean noticed several things first. No sulfur on the windowsill. No smell of ozone in the air. No signs of a struggle. And absolutely no blood. All four very good signs.
The room was relatively neat, just a few toys scattered on the floor, beds unmade, and a couple of books lying open face down on one of the matching bedside tables. If it weren’t for the fact that the boys were missing, there wouldn’t have been anything wrong with this scene.
Dean stepped deeper into the room and took a closer look. The boys had to share a closet, but it seemed fairly evenly divided, their mom obviously the one doing most of the putting away and tidying up. There were almost miniature sized matching desks on either side of the room and above them cork boards with pictures and drawings and various mementos stuck to them.
Striding over to one of the boards Dean scanned the pictures. Most of them seemed to be from several different Boy Scout outings, Cary and Hugh dressed in their uniforms with Frank or other chaperones posing with them. In one picture in particular the boys, in plain clothes, with Frank and Laurie were standing in front of a cliff rising high behind them. Cary and Hugh were grinning from ear to ear each brandishing a brand-new Leatherman set with utility knives, flashlights and compasses all fitted neatly into the individual pockets. Their parents looked proud and they all looked undeniably happy.
Unpinning the picture, Dean flipped it over.
Hugh, Cary, Mom, and Dad, 7th Birthday Family Campout
A quick calculation in his head and Dean cursed. It wouldn’t have been long after this picture was taken that Frank moved out and the divorce was finalized. This picture is the last photographic proof of an outwardly happy and whole family.
Flipping it back over, Dean searched the picture for clues as to where it was taken. A quick scan and he’d seen enough, he let out a sigh of relief. He could just barely see the railing of a deck at the top of the cliff in the corner of the picture. This was in the greenbelt, right behind the Grant’s house. It separated two halves of the neighborhood; the more expensive houses were perched on top of the cliffs overlooking the greenbelt.
Discarding the picture and turning back to the room, Dean looked it over again with searching eyes. On the bookshelf there were two Leatherman shaped dust voids next to a wooden model t-rex, in the closet there were two empty places in the lineup of shoes, and glancing at the desks Dean noticed that instead of standard clutter it seemed like the kids had completely emptied their school books out onto their desks; their backpacks were nowhere to be found.
Dean was pretty sure he knew why the pop tarts and Zebra Cakes had gone missing from the kitchen as well. Can’t go camping without provisions, after all.
Great. At least now he knew for sure it wasn’t a monster, ghost, demon, or pervert that had taken the boys. The boys weren’t taken at all.
Through the window and down the tree, he was almost to his car before Hart caught up to him.
“Campbell!” Hart called after him and chased him to the Impala. “Campbell, what are you doing?”
Dean spared him a quickly look before popping the trunk and snatching Sam’s duffle up, unzipping it to dump the clothes out. He hadn’t touched the thing since Stull, the memories too fresh and painful, but he didn’t have time to angst over the neatly packed memorial to his brother. Cary and Hugh were running out of time.
“I’ve got a lead.” He replied curtly.
“What lead?” Hart demanded, impatient and mildly alarmed. “What are you doing?”
“I think I might know where Hugh and Cary are.” Dean said as he rested his battered first aid kit from its compartment in the trunk and rustled up a couple of weathered canteens from the disorganized depths, before stuffing it all and a ratty slightly stained motel blanket into the duffle, zipping it up. He had half a mind to grab more ammo or at least a sawed-off just for paranoia’s sake, but Detective Hart was practically breathing down his neck and he didn’t want to deal with the massive worms that opened can would release.
“Campbell, you can’t just go off after them. We have to confirm and strategize and-”
“And waste time, yeah, I know how the burocratic red tape works. Even for a supposed kidnapping case.” Dean cut him off and slammed the trunk shut before darting back across the street and back over into the Grants’ yard. Hart following him all the way to the outside faucet where the garden hose was hooked up.
“Wait. Supposed? How do you know it’s not a kidnapping?” Hart asked as he watched Dean turn on the faucet and start rinsing out and refilling the canteens. It seemed like the last thing they’d held was just water, which Dean was grateful for. He didn’t want to have to trek after two seven year old boys without two filled canteens because they’d been permanently stained with noxious, ass tasting, anti-hex juice or something.
“I don’t.” Dean finished filling up the second canteen and turned off the water, shoving the canteens back into the duffle. “I’m following a lead that would suggest that it’s not a kidnapping. But just in case, you should hold the fort in case there’s a ransom call or something, eh?”
Dean stood and slapped a mockingly companionable hand on Hart’s shoulder before he turned away and started around the side of the house to the backyard.
He didn’t quite make it that far before Hart lost his patience with Dean’s reticence. He grabbed him executing a shockingly fast maneuver and slammed Dean up against the side of the house with a forearm, steely and immovable across his chest.
Dean was taller than Hart by a few inches, but that didn’t do anything to detract from the threat clear in the older man’s brown eyes.
“Explain yourself now, Campbell, or I will personally arrest you for tampering with a crime scene and impeding a police investigation.”
Stunned frozen for a moment, Dean concentrated on remaining loose and nonthreatening. When Hart didn’t let up, Dean weighed his options and went with the road he traveled the least.
“There were no signs of a struggle; no blood, or broken furniture. The boys are Boy Scouts and were given Leatherman’s for their last birthday. Both sets were missing from their shelf along with their backpacks, and a pair each of their shoes. Laurie told me earlier that a box of pop tarts and Zebra Cakes were missing from her pantry this morning.” He took a breath and gave the last piece of evidence that would supply a motive to the means. “The boys both have a picture of them together with their parents camping in the greenbelt for their birthday. The last family picture taken before Laurie and Frank finalized their divorce.”
Detective Hart stood silent and frozen, his arm keeping Dean from moving, for a long moment as he processed all that Dean Campbell had just told him.
“And you got all of that from little more than five minutes in the boys’ room.” He stated, grave and dry.
Dean shrugged under his hold. “Usually I’m working with a couple of obscure newspaper articles, completely unhelpful witnesses, and evidence contaminated by so many people I wouldn’t be able to tell a dusting of sulfur from dust motes if I snorted it up my nose.”
Hart had absolutely no idea what Dean had just said, but he’d gotten the general gist. Stepping back from Campbell he eyed him sternly. “You still can’t be sure it’s not a kidnapping.”
“You’re right.” Dean said, adjusting his duffle on his shoulder and turning back toward the greenbelt on the other side of the back gate. “That’s why I’m going to investigate this totally unreliable lead and you are going to stay here with the real detectives.”
Hart wasn’t so sure he liked the note of sarcasm in Dean’s voice, but he didn’t protest, just watched Dean vault over the back gate with little effort. He sighed, resigned.
“At least let me give you my number so you can call if you find them.”
One of Dean’s hands waved dismissively through the air above the gate from the other side. “Already got it, Sargent Friday. You ain’t the only one that does his homework.”
Dean Campbell disappeared entirely with those last words and Hart rubbed at his face tiredly. He hoped to hell he wasn’t wrong to trust Campbell with this. He hoped his gut instinct screaming that the file on the Winchesters was just all kinds of conflicting circumstantial evidence and too quickly disregarded witness statements wasn’t wrong either.
Two little boys’ lives depended on it.
*
Dean followed the rough trail through three wrong turns, two dead ends, one abrupt drop off, and one jump across a small creek. Finally three hours later, Dean came out of the trees to a small ravine with a mostly dry creek bed running through the middle and moderately sized cliffs rising up on either side.
He was in the right place.
Looking to the cliff on his right he scanned its craggy sides till he saw something that looked familiar from the picture. Halfway up the rock was a smallish cave nearly covered by a tenacious mountain laurel that was clinging to the side of the cliff. Now, if he was a couple of frustrated depressed seven year old boys trying to recapture a time when their family was whole and their parents were still together, then that little cave right there would be where Dean would hide out.
It took twenty minutes to find the trail that looked like only fearless kids and mountain goats would even think about traversing. It took Dean another forty-five minutes to pick and climb his way up the side of the cliff. When he finally made it to the out cropping Dean’s legs were shaking and he was forcefully reminded why he hated camping and heights.
Absolutely refusing to look over the edge and back down into the little creek bed, Dean dropped his duffle off his shoulder and turned his attention to the inside of the cave.
“I got to tell you, dudes. You two sure know how to find a hiding place.”
“Dean!” Hugh and Cary shouted in surprise looking simultaneously relieved, miserable and guilty.
“Yeah.” Dean sighed, in equal relief to find the boys actually there, intact and seemingly unharmed. “Yeah, it’s me.”
It didn’t take very long to assess any damage the boys might have accrued during their little runaway camping adventure. Cary had a lightly sprained ankle from the climb up and Hugh had a tummy ache from too many Zebra Cakes and no water.
Dean wrapped Cary’s ankle in an ace bandage from his med kit and made both boys drink at least half of the canteens before giving Hugh an antacid to settle his stomach. All in all, the whole ordeal seemed more traumatizing than damaging. The boys were quiet through the triage and when everything settled down once more there was a long awkward silence like they were just waiting to be reprimanded.
Shifting to sit against the cave wall between the boys, Dean stretched out his legs and sipped from one of the canteens before putting the boys out of their anticipatory misery and breaking the silence.
“Do you guys want to tell me why you decided to go camping in the middle of the night?” He asked leadingly, not sounding particularly angry like other adults would. Just curious and maybe a little understanding.
Hugh took in a shuddering breath and looked down at his dirty hands when he spoke. “We just wanted it to go back to the way it was.” He said. “When mom and dad still liked each other.”
Dean’s heart gave a little pang at the sadness in the little boy’s voice.
“We went camping here just before Dad moved out.” Cary continued. “We thought…”
“We thought that maybe if we went camping out here again it would all just…”
“Go away?” Dean finished for the boys quietly. They looked at him sadly then looked back down at their hands. “You guys know that no matter what your mom and dad love you, right?”
Hugh huffed like that was a stupid question. “Yeah, we know.” He said rolling his eyes before sobering. “They just don’t love each other anymore.”
And that, Dean figured, was the crux of the matter. The boys just wanted their family back together. They didn’t want to have to divide their time between two houses. They wanted to wake up in the morning to their mom and their dad making breakfast. They wanted to spend Saturdays hiking through the greenbelt with their dad pointing out wildlife and their mom snapping pictures all the while.
Dean could recite exorcisms from memory in four dead languages, rebuild a ‘67 Chevy from the ground up, kill demons and angels, cheat death hundreds of times, and save the world from the biblical apocalypse. But he couldn’t get Cary and Hugh’s parents back together.
It made him feel kind of useless.
Rubbing tiredly at his face, Dean wrapped his arms around the boys’ shoulders and pulled them against his sides. They collapsed against him like he was only thing keeping them upright underneath all this pain and sadness their parents’ divorce layered on them. The thought made his heart hurt.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you with that.” He told them sincerely. “I can’t tell you why your mom and dad stopped being in love, but I can tell you that they are worried sick about you both right now.”
He felt the boys’ bony little shoulders hunch in shame against his ribs.
“What do you say I take you guys back home? I think you guys have had enough adventure for one day.”
There was a small pause, before Cary and Hugh nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Dean gave them a reassuring squeeze before pushing them both up to standing and beginning the logistics of trekking back down the cliff to the ground and through the forest home.
Hugh and Dean both helped Cary limp his way down the cliff trail, it was slow going. Dean had to pace himself to two injured, exhausted, and inexperienced seven year olds. When they finally hit the bottom an hour later all three of them were tired and not looking forward to the walk home.
Surprisingly enough, however, with Hugh carrying his and his brother’s backpacks and Dean carrying his duffle with Cary on his back to spare further aggravating the boy’s ankle the trip was quicker than Dean had estimated.
Two hours later, Dean could hear the sounds of suburban life once again and he figured he should probably contact Detective Hart to tell him the boys were okay.
A frustratingly vague text message from an unknown number was all the warning Hart received before he was watching through the living room windows as a dead suspected serial killer escorted the Grants’ missing children out of the greenbelt in the backyard.
boys ok. c u n 5.
Laurie spent all of a split second being shocked immobile before she almost broke her own backdoor down to get to her kids, her ex-husband, Frank, not more than a step behind her.
By the time Hart and the rest of the cops got outside Laurie and Frank were on their knees holding their sons and holding each other and all four of them were saying things like:
“We were so worried.”
“We’re sorry.”
“Love you so much.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“We won’t, we won’t.”
And all through the heart warming reunion Dean Campbell stood back watching the scene like it was all the reward he would ever need. Like just the fact that he could bring Cary and Hugh back to their parents, bring Laurie and Frank’s boys back home, was what made his entire life worth it.
Hart watched it all and suddenly little bits and pieces of the slipshod puzzle that was the FBI file on the Winchesters started to make complete sense. It felt like he’d been trying to figure out a jigsaw with the middle pieces all turned upside down, but now that some of them were right side up, the picture was starting to look clearer and clearer.
“Sir, should we arrest him?” Detective Boltz was so green she smelled like it, but she was a good cop and Hart knew she had plenty of promise. She just needed to learn that “the book” didn’t always have all the answers.
“No, Detective.” Hart said, his eyes still pinned on Dean as Laurie finally composed herself enough to reach up and grab onto one of his hands and start thanking him so profusely and earnestly that the poor guy’s face looked it was about to catch fire he was blushing so hard.
“It looks like, today, Mr. Campbell is the hero.”
*
End.