Disclaimer: See initial chapter.

A/N: It has been a long, long while. I apologize. I've been working on other projects, and decided that I would polish up this chapter. It isn't perfect, but I hope it'll do.

Grey Matter

John scanned the predawn sky, looking for signs of the A-Team, or his sons. He didn't find any, save for a mass of tire tracks, some of which might be those he sought, but he couldn't be sure. It was impossible for him to tell whether or not the tracks were made from the infamous van that the A-Team drove.

He'd seen it pictured in the papers and on the news, and thought it rather an outlandish vehicle for a group of men on the run from the government to use. It was conspicuous and John thought it stuck out like a sore thumb with its red streak. That's why he stuck with something a little less noticeable. The Impala or a simple Ford truck were easy to conceal and brought little attention to themselves, at least from the police. He didn't mind the car aficionados checking it out on occasion.

He was exhausted and his nerves were strung taut with tension. Sammy and Dean could be lost to him forever, and it would be partially his fault for having left them on their own. He should never have entrusted their safety to that of an eight year old boy, no matter how competent that eight year old happened to be.

Bobby started awake abruptly, having been jostled as John made a rather sharp turn down a tree-lined drive. He wondered if John was ready to switch off on driving yet. They'd switched just once during their search for the boys and he reckoned he'd had enough rest for the night, and was up for driving, if only to give himself something to do other than look out the blasted window of the Impala. The sky was already growing pink and gold with the first rays of a quickly approaching dawn.

"Where're we?" He yawned and stretched as much as he was able to in the cramped quarters.

"Just outside Bad Rock," John uttered.

"You really think they would've stayed in the area?" Bobby questioned the other man.

"Not sure," John's reply was accompanied by a yawn.

"You want me to take over driving?" Bobby offered.

He had no idea where else they could look, he'd been up and down the highway all night, and wondered how the boys were faring. He'd only heard about the A-Team in passing. They, like hunters, were legends spoken about in hushed voices by people who were only halfway certain they really existed. Every now and again someone claiming to have actually met a member of the A-Team, or a hunter, been helped by them, would pop up and the story was always the stuff legends were made of, and impossible to believe.

Nothing he'd heard, whether truth or make-believe, led him to believe that Dean and Sammy were in danger of being killed by the infamous men. If anything, they had a reputation for being above reproach, save where the military was concerned. They helped – if the legend was to be believed – the helpless. They were do-gooders, like modern-day Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and wicked to give to the poor and kindly.

It was said that if you were in trouble, all you had to do was call them up and they would, for a small fee, offer their services. He wondered how much of it was true, and how much was tainted by the retelling and coloring of bias. According to the military, they were mercenaries and had broken the law. They were nothing but base criminals, worthy of incarceration, and traitors, worthy of death.

Bobby wagered that they fell somewhere in between the two extremes. A large part of him hoped that, for Dean and Sammy's sake, the men were the heroes those they'd aided claimed they were, but he was too much of a realist to completely discount what their naysayers said. Truth was, the world they lived in was rarely straight up black and white, but rather an often dismal gray.

"Sure," John said.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he got out and stretched before heading over to the passenger seat. Bobby settled himself behind the wheel and spared a sidelong glance at John. The man's bruises were already beginning to fade, but he looked worn and weary, older than he should.

"Don't worry, we'll get the boys back," he promised as he put the car into gear and headed back down the highway.

He didn't know what would happen to the hunter if they didn't. He'd barely survived his wife's death; Bobby doubted he'd survive the loss of both of his sons. Hell, he didn't know how he'd handle it himself, and the boys weren't even his.

Maggie stifled a yawn and stretched out her lower back. As she'd predicted, it had taken the better part of the night to tend to Face. She'd managed to get some of the swelling down, but was worried that there might be some bleeding on the brain. That wasn't something she could handle on her own. He would need to be brought to the hospital, and Maggie knew that it would be hard to convince Hannibal and the others that it was necessary. They seemed to think she could work miracles, and while she had worked under some pretty harrowing conditions in Viet Nam, she didn't really want to replicate any of them in her clinic.

"He gonna be okay?" BA asked her.

He'd woken earlier and had been unable to go back to sleep. He turned over on his side and took his first good look at Face since they'd arrived at Maggie's. He looked far more peaceful than he had at the farmhouse, but still far too pale for BA's liking.

"I didn't realize you were awake," Maggie said.

She brought out her stethoscope, and, in spite of the grimace that BA gave her, she placed it on his chest and listened to the steady heartbeat.

"Sounds good," she said.

"'Course it does," BA replied, "I ain't the one hurt, and you didn't answer my question."

He would have sat up, but she placed a hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

"Get some rest," she said, "Face isn't out of the woods just yet. He needs rest, and so do you."

"How's the fool and Sammy?" he asked instead.

He was wide awake now, and doubted that much sleep would come to him. There were too many things going on in his head, too many questions and too many things to worry about. He might need the rest, but he wouldn't be getting any until he had some answers.

"Murdock and Sammy are fine. I've tended to Murdock's injuries, he has a concussion. I've been monitoring him." she'd been dividing her time between Face and the pilot, and after determining that Murdock's head injury wasn't life threatening, had focused much of her energy on Face and Hannibal.

"And Hannibal?" BA asked, wondering where the Colonel had gotten off to.

Hannibal popped his head in the door. "I'm just fine BA, do as the doc says and get some rest."

"What about you?" BA sat up.

The Colonel gave him a boyish grin around the cigar in his mouth. "I'm keeping first watch." There was no mistaking that there was a twinkle in the older man's eyes. No doubt the man was on the jazz, and BA shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Where are the fool and Sammy?" BA asked. He looked around the room as best he could with the doctor's hand pushing him back, and couldn't see hide nor hair of either of them.

"They're crashed out on the couch in the living room," Hannibal replied.

"And, Dean?" BA knew that Sammy's big brother wouldn't take too kindly to being separated from him.

"He's right over there." Doc gestured toward a gurney off to the right of BA. "I've cleaned up his injury, and given him a sedative. He should sleep through the night."

Somehow BA doubted that would happen, Dean didn't strike him as the kind of kid, sedative or not, who would sleep through the night when he was on duty to watch his kid brother. It was a pity that the kid had been brought up that way, that Dean was always on alert. It wasn't any way for a kid to grow up, and BA once more wished that the boys' father was right there in front of them so that he could give the man a piece of his mind, or a good throttling. He'd settle for either right now.

"Easy there, BA." Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder and BA let out a breath of pent up air. He shook his head, wondering that the colonel could read him so easily.

"It's just, I don't get it. How could their father just leave them there, alone, and vulnerable? Especially with what he knows about ghosts and all that." BA reached out toward the bed where the towheaded boy lay, and Maggie pushed Dean's gurney closer so that he could clasp Dean's hand in his own.

Dean's skin was hot to the touch.

"It's the infection," Maggie answered his question before he could even ask it. "His body's doing a good job of fighting it off, but I have him on antibiotics."

"You know he's going to be asking about Sammy soon's he gets up," BA said, directing his comment to Hannibal.

"We'll cross that particular bridge when we get to it," Hannibal said. "Get some rest BA. I'll keep an eye on things for awhile. Sammy and Murdock are okay. Dean and Face are getting the medical attention they need."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine, had worse," Hannibal said with a shrug. "Something tells me that we're in for a long next couple of days. Get some shut-eye while you can." With that said, Hannibal left the room and BA, hand still gripping Dean's tightly, closed his eyes.

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