Blue Earth, Minnesota

1984

Patience was a virtue, but it was an emotion best suited for the mentally sound. It was not a feeling that particularly suited the harried man who was pacing around his secluded study nestled into his home that was right next to his church. As pastor of Blue Earth community church, Jim Murphy had seen and heard a lot of things that had gotten the better of him emotionally, but there was nothing quite like not being able to locate someone. Especially someone who hunted supernatural evil for a living. Pacing in his study, his scarred fingers coming to rest on his chin, Jim sat back down on his old study chair, and perused the aged address book. Mostly hunting contacts, and the occasional church parishioner who needed some help.

Crossing out names that meant little to him, and mentally making a note in his mind to update the book at a more appropriate time, he quickly found what he was searching for, and picked up the phone. The dial tone sounded incessantly in his ear, until the automated message came on, informing him to leave a message. He did not. Instead, he slammed the receiver down, and palmed his face. This was not turning out how he initially thought when he began his hasty search. Usually, with hunters, a no-show or a missed call, was nothing to be concerned about. However, it was the nature of this situation that was so troubling to the pastor.

New hunters typically rushed into the fire without much forethought to what could happen to them. They were brazen, bold, and reckless. These traits were exactly what got so many of them killed in their first year or so of hunting down supernatural evil. It was what Jim had seen happen to so many people that he mentored over the years. For some reason, he thought that maybe things could be different with the older hunter that he met the year before, on a cold and bitter winter afternoon. John Winchester had come like a storm into his life that fateful night-bringing with him a sign of hope in the form of his two precious little boys who had been caught up in the whirlwind of hunting after their mother passed.

John was typical of people who had been inducted into the unforgiving nature of the job. He was eager to find the monster who had murdered his wife, but he was also just as impatient to learn the tricks of the trade and find a way to protect his boys. Jim remembered, with a quiet sigh as he dug through his address book, the way that five-year-old Dean had clung to his baby brother's hand, who was situated in John's arms. He recalled the way that Dean regarded him with distrust that was not at all typical of a toddler. Pausing on a promising name in his book, he chuckled when he thought about Sam, innocently babbling something incoherent in his Dad's arms, and how he was trying his best to imitate whatever Dean was doing in that moment.

They were too young to be indoctrinated into this harsh and cruel world of hunting evil. It was a world that often left no survivors, and the children of those people, were often left to fend for themselves. In that instant, a steel resolve assailed Jim's senses as he realized that he would not be one of those people who would let the children brave the cruelty of the world by themselves.

Circling the name of his friend and contact in the hunting world, Jim sighed deeply before picking up the phone and dialing. He had an idea that it was late in the town of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but he was a desperate man. When he listened beyond the dial tone, he could hear the sounds of the cartoons playing in the living room, and Dean educating his brother in what the characters were doing. It was for them that he was the most worried, and in that instant, he felt a surge of anger at John for not checking in like he knew he was supposed to. For leaving his boys hanging like he was. Dean, for all that he was doing in focusing on his brother, had to know that something wasn't quite right. Usually, Jim could be counted to be out in the living room with the boys, casually making remarks about the cartoons they were watching.

Palming his face before slamming that same hand down on the desk, he exhaled in relief when the call finally connected. For all of his independence in the hunting life, he knew there were some days when help was needed, and this was one of those times.

"Who the hell is calling this late? The exasperated voice of Bobby Singer groused.

Jim had known Bobby for over fifteen years, and his expertise in the hunting world, was legendary. Besides being one of the best hunters he personally knew, he also had near perfect knowledge of any bad thing that he might be facing. It was for this reason that Bobby had practically started his own side business mentoring other hunters in need.

"Bobby, it's Jim." He tried to disguise the worry in his voice, without much success. "It's-it's...John. He left the boys with me about a week ago to go find something. I haven't heard from him since he got there." Those words coming out of his mouth sounded foreign to him. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth that he knew would be hard to get rid of.

There was a slight pause before Bobby spoke next. He didn't have to ask why Jim was calling as late as he was when he heard it was about John and the boys. It was one of the reasons why Jim had called him first. A cartoon-sounding explosion interrupted the brief silence, and was rapidly followed by Dean's laughter, and his quiet voice explaining to his brother what had just happened.

"What was he hunting?"

Jim looked down at the papers that he had gotten together about the hunt. It was from what he could piece together from the little John had given him. Even though he trusted him with his two sons, he apparently did not see the need to trust him with his hunting trip. "It looks like a simple haunting. In and out."

"Poltergeist?"

"No, doesn't appear to be that. Looks like a haunted bathroom in some 1700's mansion. Just a spirit, looks like."

In the background, he could hear a soft thud and Bobby's swift curse, before the elder hunter got back on the phone. "Have you called anybody else?"

Jim shook his head. "Not yet. I was thinking of giving Caleb a call, see if he maybe had heard from him."

That was the best situation he could come up with at short notice: Caleb was a younger hunter who was remarkably skilled for only having been in the life for a few years. Not only that, but he was close to the place where John had started his hunt. If there was anyone he trusted to help him beside Bobby, Caleb Rivers would be the one to call.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. He might know somethin' we don't. In the meantime, I'll dig my nose in and call some folks around here."

Jim nodded, already feeling slightly better at the prospect of finally getting some answers. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Bobby."

Hanging up with Bobby, Jim leaned against his desk, rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes, and flipped through his aged address book for the number he was looking for. He had no doubt that Caleb would be more than willing to help-he also had a relationship with John, and adored his two boys. Finding his number located near the back of the book, he made a mental note to reorganize his book, before he heard the pitter-patter of little feet coming in.

"Unko Jim?" Dean sucked on his bottom lip as he hovered in the doorway to the private study. Dean barely suppressed a yawn, as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "Where's Daddy?" While Dean had not necessarily asked that question a ton of times, Jim knew that it was on his heart. Anytime John left the boys with him for an extended period of time, he always wanted to know where his daddy was and when he would be coming back.

Forcing a smile on his face, he crossed the room in a single stride, and bent down to Dean's level. "He's out, Dean. He'll be back soon, kiddo."

Dean nodded slowly, and Jim could see the wheels turning in his mind as he processed the information. "When?"

"I don't know when," Jim replied patiently. "What I do know is that he's helping some very lucky people right now."

There was no way he would burden Dean with the knowledge that he might be faced with losing both of his parents in the span of less than a year. Tuning his ears to the living room, he could hear wooden blocks clang together as Sam tried to build a tower. Dean heard him, too, and turned his head slightly. It was amazing to Jim how in-sync Dean was with his little brother. It was almost as though he shared a soul with his brother that had been born out of the trauma they had both endured in their lives.

"Sammy's hungwy," Dean stated. "I heard his tummy growl." He made an exaggerated monster voice to illustrate his point.

Jim chuckled softly. "Okay, let's go feed him together, then. Do you think he'd like some carrots and apple sauce?"

Dean nodded once, but then shook his head as they approached the living room. "He will. I won't."

"How about some hamburger for you?" Jim asked, a knowing smile appearing on his face. "After all, a dinosaur needs to eat a lot of meat, right?"

Dean considered this statement for a moment. "I guess so."

Once the (very) messy dinner was cleaned up and both boys had been taken upstairs to complete their bedtime ritual, and were safely tucked into their own beds, Jim finally returned downstairs to face the inevitable task ahead of him. He returned to his study, and kept the door slightly ajar so he would be made aware if the boys were to awaken. He picked up the phone with dread settling into his heart. Every part of him was screaming at him that this was not a good thing that was going on. John had been gone for too long with no contact.

"Jim?" Caleb's quiet voice came over the phone; he sounded tired. "Is everything...okay?"

"Caleb, I'm sorry to call you so late. I just...I have a situation here, and I didn't know what else to do."

"What's the situation?" Caleb heaved a big yawn.

"John," Jim explained, stroking the page of his address book absently. "He left about a week ago to do a spirit hunt. I haven't heard from him since he got there. He's not responding."

There was a lag on the other end of the line, and Jim knew that Caleb had fully woken up when he processed those words. While Caleb had an easy relationship with John, there was a certain tension between them because of how he chose to live his life when he had two children. It was why John often recruited Jim to watch the boys when he could. The pastor could only imagine the kind of thoughts floating through Caleb's head.

"Where are the boys?" He sounded annoyed, even irritated.

"They're with me."

"Good. Listen, ah, where was the hunt?"

"Around your neck of the woods. Just right outside Dallas."

"Yeah, I'll go check it out, Jim. It's on my way to round up some more munition."

Jim was relieved; it meant that he had a capable partner who was willing to assist, even though he barely could contain his disapproval at how the boys were being treated. He hung up with Caleb after supplying him with the information he would need to find the hunting location. It was then that he realized how tired he was. The search had taken up more time than he thought, and the emotional toll had been just as bad. He was more than ready to go to bed, and did so after checking on the boys. They were both sound asleep, their little bodies blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil the pastor was facing.

AN:

I'm baaaack. I had this series published under a different account many years ago, and then for some stupid reason, deleted years of work. Well, I found this series again under a website that saves deleted fanfiction, and I decided to republish this. Some minor details from the story have been changed, but the plot remains exactly the same. I hope that old and new readers will join me on this adventure of hope, faith, family, and of course, supernatural!