Note: Dedicated to poestheblackcat for encouraging the idea of writing another take of the "Last Death" story. ^-^ This one comes right after my sister, VesperRegina's, "like a coin that won't get tossed." (You might wanna read that first.)

Thanks for reading it beforehand and the little edit, Bambina. :D

Season: Up to Season 3, but not any huge spoilers.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show... wouldn't that be weird.

- - -

"What's Left"

Rob was eighteen now. Too young to do anything, too old not to want to.

Which was why he'd gone to the hunter's hotspot, looking for a partner. John Sullivan wasn't the best pick, maybe, but there was something familiar about him that had drawn Rob.

Only, now he was lying at the bottom of a basement, with a broken rib, waiting for a man, he wasn't sure he trusted, to come get him out. He was losing consciousness every few minutes, blinking in and out, thinking of how he'd gotten to that place.

It'd turned out that Sullivan was already in the middle of a hunt when they'd joined up. A ghost-infested house, or something. They'd gone to check out the old relic and found that the ghosts weren't just your average stock. First thing they did was separate Rob and Sullivan, then bad got worse.

Rob went down to check out the kitchen, and a bloody, armless woman had attacked him. He'd fired his rifle, and she'd knocked him over. When he fell, he went through the floor all the way to the basement.

She must have decided he wasn't a threat after that because he hadn't caught sight of her again. Well, there was a little blood blocking his vision, but he didn't think that was it. Nah, she'd definitely crossed him off her list.

Sullivan finally came. Rob couldn't remember seeing him climb down into the rubble, but there he was now, pulling him out. "Hey..."

"Stupid kid."

He put Rob's arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet.

- - -

Rob thought maybe he was going to drop him as his partner, but John just told him gruffly, "Don't mess up again," and dropped him off in front of Bobby's.

He managed to make it up the steps without passing out again, but when he got inside and tried to sneak up the stairs without anyone noticing, Bobby yelled, "Robert Samuel! Where the heck do you think you're going?"

He closed his eyes and froze. Crap. Slowly, he turned around on the step, trying not to be too obvious about holding his side. He'd cleaned up the gash under his hair a bit, but it was still going to be extremely obvious.

"The crap...?" Bobby muttered. "Where've you been?" was actually the first question, though.

He decided lying wasn't gonna get him anywhere in this situation, so he tried anger on for size instead. "Hunting."

Bobby stared at him for a second. "Are you out of your danged mind?"

"What else am I 'sposed to do, Bobby? Mom's a hunter! Dad was a hunter. Even my freakin' uncle was! Even my *grandparents* and *their* parents!"

His gramps looked like he was about to smack some sense into him, but instead he went and wrestled him over to the couch. "Your mama sees you like this, and she's gonna cry. I don't know what the heck you think this is gonna accomplish, but every single one of those people you used as an excuse is *dead* now, except your mom and me. So you better think real hard about what you're getting yourself into."

Rob lowered his head. "I'm gonna get some stuff to clean you up. Just... stay put. And don't go to sleep! You have a concussion... idiot kid..."

He was wrong, Rob wanted to say. But he couldn't. Mostly because he was right.

- - -

By the time Jo got home, Rob was pretty much looking normal, except for the bandaid under his short bangs. He wasn't trying to hide it, but then again... if she just didn't notice, that'd be good too.

"Rob..." she said, when she finally relaxed enough to look at him. Waitressing took a lot out of her. "I'm gonna kill you, baby," she muttered, and stroked his face. "I've been wondering how long it'd take you to go off and do this. I'm just going to ask one thing. Are you sure?"

It wasn't what he'd been expecting. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Bobby leaning back in his chair, and staring. "Yeah... I'm working with a pro. He knows what he's doing, Mom. I swear."

She bit her lip, and sat down next to him at the table. "Who is he? I might know him."

"John Sullivan."

Bobby's chair scraped back, suddenly, and both he and Jo turned to look up at him. "You idgit boy," he said, softly.

"What?" both Jo and Rob asked at the same time.

"Sullivan is a crazy, from what I hear. You have some luck, son."

"Bobby," Jo chided.

"Who's the oldest and wisest here?" he retorted.

Jo sighed and turned back to her son. "Rob, maybe...?"

"Mom, I'm not an idiot. John is okay. He's a little... you know," he made a wavy hand-motion, "But he watches my back. Just... what happened this time, we got separated. If it wasn't for that--"

"All right, all right," she said and gripped his shoulder. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Okay. I promise." He felt a sense of relief, almost joy. Even Bobby didn't look so set against it now. "Thanks, Mom."

She sighed and shook her head. "That doesn't mean I'm okay with it, Rob. But I'd rather you didn't go off and try to do this on your own. I'll back you up all the way if it means not losing you..." She trailed off, and he wondered if she was thinking, '... sooner than later.'

- - -

"My Grandpa thinks you're nuts," Rob said out of nowhere, a half-week later.

John looked at him slowly, a strange turn of the head that reminded him of the Exorcist. They were sitting in John's truck, on a stakeout. It was probably John's version of taking it slow. No more mistakes after that first misstep.

He didn't want to be babied, but somewhere in the back of his head, he felt a little relieved. "You live at home?"

"Yeah, with my mom too." It came out a little defensively.

"No problem with that..." John looked back to the house. "Sometimes, I dream about this man. I think he was my brother."

"What? You don't remember?"

The sideways look again. "No... Nothing from before twenty-or-so years ago."

"Do you know what happened?" Now he felt like he was prying, but he couldn't stop himself. John was a big, fat enigma that he couldn't help but want to puzzle out.

"I went to a psychic. She said maybe I got burned-out somehow. Used too much power all at once, or something like that. She said it'd be better if I just left it alone." He shrugged. "But certain things follow a man, I guess."

"And what about the man? The one in your dreams?"

John's jaw clenched, and Rob knew that was the end of *that* conversation. So he asked instead, "Hey... Maybe if you come over, my mom and Bobby can see that you're okay?"

Sullivan looked at him like he had demon-eyes. "I'm not the Sunday barbecue type, if you hadn't noticed." His voice was practically dripping sarcasm.

"I get that, but... as a favor to me. It'd sure put their minds at ease, y'know?"

There was silence for a bit, then the lights around the house started going crazy, blinking on and off erratically. "Come on," John ordered and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.

- - -

When John was driving him home, two black eyes and drying blood under his nose from where he'd taken a hit for Rob, he asked, "Invitation still open?"

Rob refrained from acting like the little kid he still sometimes felt like. "Sure," he said, in his deepest voice. "Why not tonight?"

John looked uncomfortable. "Tomorrow night. I'm pretty sure I'd scare your folks if I walk in as I am now."

He chuckled nervously in agreement. He wanted to tease a little, but he didn't lie to himself. He was still kind of intimidated by his partner. Maybe a little healthy respect wasn't a bad thing, though.

He just hoped his mom and Bobby would see it that way.

- - -

He went to find John at his motel when the next day rolled around, but he wasn't there. Frustrated, he kicked the door, then stood and thought about it for a moment. Where would he have gone?

It occurred to him that maybe he'd pushed too hard, and the hunter had finally ditched him. But even if he'd ditched him, that didn't necessarily mean he was gone yet.

He got back in the truck and drove to the nearest bar. It didn't take him long to spot the dark, shaggy head that was far above the rest. He strode straight to him and demanded, "Why are you here?"

John looked at him, for a moment seeming as if he was about to take Rob's head off with a swipe of his arm, then he relaxed. "Oh... it's you," he mumbled, and turned back to his drink.

"Are you comin' or what? You promised, man."

"What are you, my mother?" He wasn't angry, just annoyed.

"I already told Mom and Bobby you'd be there. She made supper for you, idiot."

John looked mildly contrite. "Tell her I'm sorry..."

"Tell her yourself!"

Someone behind him chuckled, and Rob turned to glare at them. The man held up his hand and said, "Your old man's a drunk, kid. You're better off without him."

Rob's temper flared, and he grabbed John by the arm and yanked him. "You're comin' whether you like it or not."

"Fine, fine... just let me put my drink down, first, D--Rob."

They were almost back to Bobby's when it finally registered. "Hey, uh, John, what were you gonna call me back there?"

John frowned at him. "Wha'd'you mean?"

"You started to call me a name that started with a 'D'. What was it?"

"Oh..." John shrugged. "I don't remember. It was on the tip of my tongue, but it's gone now."

Rob was quiet, a shiver running down his spine. Sometimes Bobby would start to yell at him, and he'd stumble over a few familiar names, first. One of them was his dad's.

Dean.

- - -

John was almost sober when they arrived. But Rob still tried to straighten out his wrinkled, plaid shirt for him before they went in. He got his hand knocked away for his efforts. "What is this? A date?"

Blushing, he muttered as he started up to the house, "You're not touching my mom, and you're sure as heck not *my* boyfriend."

"Hahah," John said, dryly. Why was it that old people always seemed to have abnormally good hearing?

Ears flaming, he opened the door and went in. John followed behind him, and Rob was already saying before he got to where Jo and Bobby were waiting in the kitchen, "Mom, Grampa Bobby, this is John Sullivan."

He entered, and turned to watch John shuffling in behind. He had to duck his head as he came through the kitchen doorway, he was that tall. Bobby stood up, mouth gaping, and Jo turned from the sink and immediately dropped a plate.

"Oh, my God."

John looked like he was even more spooked than the other two. "Hey... uh, what's going on?" Rob tried, but his question went unnoticed.

"Sam...?" Bobby said, coming around the table. He reached for John, and John took a step back.

Rob stared as Bobby gripped John's arms. "Sam, don't you remember me?"

"I've never met you--" John started to say.

Bobby shook him a little. "Come on, Sammy, do you think I'm yanking your chain or something? You must remember *somethin'*!"

Jo stepped over the bits of plate and pulled Bobby away from John. "Stop... That's enough."

He moved away, trembling, and sank into the nearest chair. Jo asked John, "You really don't know?"

"You think I'm this guy, 'Sam'?"

"Rob's uncle," she answered, "Your brother was Dean Winchester. My husband."

John glanced at Rob and frowned. He'd told him his name was Rob Colt.

"Mom..." Rob said, finally, "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "How far back does your memory go?"

"How did you...? Never mind. So, *I'm* the infamous Sam Winchester?" He scoffed. "I shoulda known."

Jo chewed on her lip, shrugged, finally took a breath and said, "I can tell we have a lot to talk about, so why don't we all take a seat?"

- - -

"So, it seems like you should be asking *me* this," John began, awkwardly, "But... what was Dean like?"

They were out on the porch swing now, the long discussion finally over.

The swing had been redone and repainted a long time ago for Jo, sometime after she and Dean had gotten married. "A complete dork... well, that's the first thing Mom says. Then she gets nostalgic and says stuff like, 'hero' and 'great dad'..."

"Hmm."

"I don't know." Rob looked out over the lot. The lowering sun was striking the old, rusting cars in a way that was almost beautiful. "He got... He died when I was eight or nine. All I remember now is..." ...the way he smiled or... His jeans. His car. The smell of his deodorant. The way he'd picked Rob up and swung him around until he got dizzy. He didn't say any of that aloud. Instead he chuckled at himself. "The stupid, little stuff, I guess."

"Mm," John said, "That's okay... I know what you mean. Sometimes... I almost think I remember my father. Just glimpses of stuff. Weird, but what I remember most was this old, leather jacket." He shook himself. "Well, no more philosophy for today. I'm too old for crap like that."

"No, *Bobby's* too old for crap like that. You're just too old."

John thwapped the back of his head as he rose to his feet and started down the steps. "I'm too old for you to be messing with me."

"Right." He got up too, all the while grinning.

John waved at him. "Practice your sparring. Your reflexes need sharpening. I don't want a liability--"

"I got it, I got it!"

His uncle stopped and appraised him. "You know what? I think you look like him a little."

Rob swallowed a lump in his throat. "That much I remember."

- the end -