Author: DMartinez
Email: shockerdm
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kripke and the WB, CW. No infringement intended.
Rating: R
Category: Supernatural; Dean, John
Summary: John's lost both of his sons. One to college and the other just up and left. John searches for his boys accompanied by a mysterious woman who just won't let him go.

Lost

Chapter 1

Fuckin' woods. John hated the fuckin' woods. Birds were chirping and crickets singing and frogs… doing what frogs do; Croaking, ribbiting… whatever. Not a God damned evil thing in the whole fuckin' woods. Two days in the fuckin' woods and not a damned trace of the thing that had been screwing with the locals. Breath puffing out in front of him, he fumbled his phone out of his pocket. Another night in this cold and John would have himself a good case of pneumonia. Mid-range signal and no missed calls. No voicemails. No answer from Dean in nearly a day. This was the kid's damn hunt and where the fuck was the kid?

How in the hell did a thing just up and disappear? The research had been for shit and the reports from the locals were contradicting and useless. If he didn't know better, he'd call it a jackalope. It was looking more and more like pixies but no one could remember seeing a pixie and all lore was pretty vague. He didn't even know if pixies could cause harm to anyone beyond creating a little confusion. Lore had crossed with fairies and goblins and no one knew what was what anymore. Travelers got lost and followed lights into the forest. Or was that the Will o' the Wisp? Fuck. This was Dean's hunt and John didn't know how many times he had told that kid that the research had to be solid before going after anything. This was not solid. It wasn't even a hunt. If John had done this to Dean, he would have called it a snipe hunt. Circles and circles and not a God damned thing in these fuckin' woods.

Shoving the cell phone back into his jacket, he watched the tree line for sunset. Leaves and sticks crunched underfoot for another mile before the woods went absolutely quiet. No birds. No crickets and no frogs. Dead silence. When he looked up, the sun was set. Then he heard the screams. Female. Terrified. Bursting into a sprint, John dodged low hanging branches and leapt over dead logs. How long had he been running? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? The screams had quieted to an echoing sob. Raising his rifle, John slowed his pace. He was close. He knew it. Sounds rebounded off the woods but he had learned how to read that in Vietnam. He was fuckin' close. What it was, he didn't know. Turning into a grove of lush greenery, he saw it. Six and a half feet tall, skin slightly green, slightly damp. It turned to face him, eyes turning up at the corners in a parody of the human eyes. Its very human mouth split open to reveal a mouthful of jagged teeth. Leveling the gun at its chest, John hesitated only a moment before it leapt and he had to swing the barrel upward, squeezing the trigger and letting loose consecrated iron rounds into the overgrown pixie's chest. It fell and screamed in agony, clawing at its chest, legs flailing. Shock of white hair on its head picked up leaves and moss as it whipped around.

It took only a moment more to fire another shot, point blank, at its head. Pulling the machete off his back, he lopped its head off just to be sure. Working quickly, he dug a shallow pit to toss the pieces, kindling and gasoline for a hungry bonfire. It wasn't until the flames danced in the air that he remembered the screams that had guided him to this latest victory. What he found was the shivering shadow where a woman had once been. Naked, bruised and bloody… John approached carefully. Blonde hair covered her face where she cowered against three closely growing trees. "Miss?"

Shaking hands lowered to cover her chest before red-rimmed eyes emerged from the slight tilt of her head. She skittered backward when he stepped toward her. Obviously traumatized and violated in more ways than one, John didn't try to get any closer. When he scanned the area, there was no sign of her clothes. He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his flannel and his T-shirt. He tossed them at her feet before turning to keep an eye on his pyre. After a moment, he could hear movement behind him. He cleared his throat. "I'll take you to the hospital."

She didn't speak. When he turned, she stood very still, T-shirt engulfing her and the flannel tied around her waist to cover her thighs. She watched him bury the remains and she limped after him back to the truck. It was pitch dark by that point and by the time they lost the light of the fire, she was clenching her fingernails into his jacket back to make sure she didn't lose him in the darkness. The hike was long and he wasn't sure he wasn't lost himself but he kept them moving. He worried about her feet but she didn't speak up and it wasn't like he had anything to cover them. Maybe he had some extra socks in his pack but they were likely filthy and wouldn't do much better than barefoot in this wood. Dawn was peeking over the mountains when he opened the truck door for her. He didn't touch her but she climbed in on her very slow own. Green eyes drifted closed as he navigated the dirt trails back to the paved roads and those back to the nearest town where he'd last seen his oldest son; where their room still stood rented but empty.

TBC