Stuck In The Middle (Season One)

Chapter 5 - 1x01 - Pilot Part 4

Sam and I raced through the forest until we were sure the cops wouldn't find us, then stopped to catch our breath. I curled my left hand into a fist, digging it into my side, an involuntary hiss of pain escaping my lips. Sam turned from where he was resting one arm on a tree and gave me a look of disbelief.

"That winded you? Dang, Henley, I thought of the two of us you'd last longer." I gave him a glare, then hissed, "Shut up!" I breathed in slowly, trying to ease the pain.

"Not everyone can get to the gym everyday, college boy. I haven't run in...let's just say a while."

He laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder while I slowly stood upright. I glared at him, grabbing my bag, and marched ahead of him. The two of us started through the woods, heading in a general direction away from the motel.

"So, where to now? We gonna break Dean Bean out of jail?" Sam thought about my suggestion, readjusted his bag, and replied, "Actually, we should probably go talk to Mr. Welch. Dean can wait." I nodded, "Yeah, but we should probably get the car, just so we aren't walking around with these." I lifted my bag, indicating I was talking about them, and the two of us turned back the way we came, making our way quietly back to the motel.

Once we reached the buildings, we both carefully peeked around the corner, checking for police officers. When neither of us saw any, we quickly made our way to the Impala, which was still sitting where Dean had parked her. I reached for the trunk, but both of us stopped, realizing it was locked.

"Well, crap. Dean has the keys with him, and I don't have a copy." Sam sighed in disappointment, and I cleared my throat, "I got you little bro." I proudly pulled out the key that I had copied from John's a few years ago, without his knowledge of course, swinging it on my finger. Sam let out a relieved laugh as I unlocked the trunk, tossing in our bags, then made his way to the driver side. I was going to protest, but decided against it, tossing him the keys over the roof. The two of us got in, and he pulled away, headed towards Joseph Welch's home.

I stood at Sam's side, waiting while he knocked on the old man's door. After a moment, it swung open and I instantly recognized Mr. Welch from the news photo. Sam smiled, "Hi, uh, are you Joseph Welch?" I sighed, restraining from rolling your eyes as the man replied with a cautious, "Yeah." I plastered a smile on my own face, and blurted out the first lie that came to mind.

"Hi, we're looking for a friend of ours, think he might've come through here. We were wondering if maybe you saw him. His name's Burt Aframian." I pulled out a picture of John with the three of us from years ago, holding it out to Joseph. He took it, then began walking towards the junkyard to the side of his house, while Sam and I followed.

"Yeah, he was older but that's him." He handed the picture back to me, and kept walking. "He came by three or four days ago, said he was a reporter." Sam nodded, "That's right. We're all working on a story together." Joseph turned to Sam, anger creeping into his tone, and he said, "Well, I don't know what the hell kind of story you're working on; the questions he asked me." Sam, seemingly oblivious, confirmed what our dad had been asking, "About your late wife, Constance." I did roll your eyes that time, as nobody would see, but perked up at Joseph's next comment.

"He asked me where she was buried." I cleared my throat, "And, um, where would that be again?" The older man's face fell into a small frown, "What, I gotta go through these twice?" Sam came to my aid, throwing in some reporter sounding excuse about fact checking, and I nodded. Joseph took a deep breath, "In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge." Sam looked down at the man in curiosity, "Why did you move?"

"I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died." I nodded sympathetically, my heart feeling his pain as his voice broke just the slightest. The man stopped in his tracks and Sam moved in front of him, inquiring, "Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?"