A/N #1: I want to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter and inquired if I was going to expand this, everyone who put this story on their favorites list, and everyone who even lurked. The chapter title is taken from the Rascal Flats song, God Bless the Broken Road (That Led Me Straight to You).

A/N #2: As always, it's non-linear. Sorry. That Gabriel/Dean kid insisted on it. Pa Bender's speech in part two was taken from the episode and changed slightly to fit the story.

Warnings: Cursing, violence, het m/m sex, weird imagery

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, not for profit.

Pairings in the 'verse: Dean/Lee Bender; Dean/Jerry/Bender; Dean/Missy Bender; Dean/OC, Dean/Ellen; Dean/Azazel/John


Part 2 - The Broken Road

I. Miss My Boys. Wish You Were Here

"They're gonna bleed 'im dry," Sam mutters softly as he stares at the wall. Dean turns away, frowning, as his vision blurs and the headache settles in deeper behind his eyes. Damn things are comin' back, just as strong as ever, and dry-swallowing aspirin doesn't seem to help.

The letters scrawled on the wall in the vacant house are a foot high, in block letters and maroon red:

UH OH. TOO SLOW. TRY AGAIN, BOYS.

They shag ass on the road five times in two weeks, crossing the country in response to post cards inked in John's blood.

Dean has no intention of keeping it but he thanks Bobby anyway for the anti-possession charm. He slips it into his jeans until he can decide what to do with the damned thing.

During what little down time they have between trips Dean runs and trains so hard it almost seems that he's trying to punish himself. Sam joins him out there, if only to slow him down so his idiot older brother won't hurt himself.

Dean goes over, licks his fingers, digs it into the wall hard enough to smear the damn red stuff around, then sucks the dark maroon tips of his fingers, hard. He gathers the saliva in his mouth and makes a face as he spits it out on the floor.

"Answer me when I'm talkin' to you, Gabriel!" Pa's voice is like the crack of a leather strap against Dean's bare skin. Dean wakes up with a start and just lies there staring into the darkness, breathing heavily for a while.

Afterwards they sit in the Impala, staring at the house, and despite the late summer heat Dean feels a chill in the air. "This isn't workin'," he says out loud, more to himself than to Sam. "We gotta make them come to us."

"I don't need you to tell me what the right thing to do is," Dean growls roughly and Missouri leaves just as quickly as she came.

"It's paint, dude," Dean grits out as he spits again. He scrubs his hand against the side of his jeans. "Red paint. Not blood."

"D-doesn't m-matter…you sumbitch…" John stutters, and he can tell by the look on the postal clerk's face that he's said it out loud. "I got 'im back. I g-got my b-boy back…"

Hendrickson smiles and taps the witness sketch with his finger. "Looks just like Dean, doesn't it? He's younger, and his hair is longer. Those round glasses are supposed to throw us off, but I'd say this is close enough for government work."

It's so damn fuckin' funny Dean forgot to laugh. If they had come just for him, he would have gone quietly, and he wouldn't even have tried to put up a fight.

"Do you know what your brat did while he was with the Benders, John?" The Demon whispers silkily. "Can you imagine your pretty little green-eyed boy eating human flesh, and liking the taste of it?"

Ellen presses that wide silver washer ring into the palm of Dean's right hand and she closes his fingers around it. "You put this on, and you wear it," she says fiercely. "You wear it, and you remind yourself that you have people who love you, that you've got something to come back home to."

"Sam? Sammy?" Sam's actually shaking as he stares at the house, and he startles when Dean touches him gently on his arm.

don't struggle, sweetness. Only hurt worse if you do, the yellow eyed shadow standing over his bed hisses, and despite himself, Dean whimpers. He's only a kid, for God's sake, and he doesn't understand any of this.

Pastor Jim insists on blessing the brothers before they leave Blue Earth again. Sam bows his head, and accepts it. Dean backs up, out of Pastor Jim's reach, his face carefully blank, and he shakes his head no, once.

"I was your Daddy for nearly twenty years, boy. Only Daddy you ever knew." Pa leans forward and their eyes lock. Dean can smell the blood on him, salty and dark.

"Only one that was there for you all the time. What, that day you couldn't even fight for your family?"

Sometimes Dean looks at the houses, especially the ones with kids playing in the front yards, and he wonders about What Might Have Been.

Ellen just stares at Dean for a moment, and then she rests her chin on his bare shoulder. "Giving yourself to these bastards isn't going to make things right," and Dean wonders exactly when he became That. Fucking. Obvious.

He dreams about John more often, remembers stuff from his childhood he thought he'd forgotten. Dad playing ball with him out in the backyard, Dad dancing in the kitchen with Mom, Dad hugging him, Dad laughing, and the urge to slaughter all the sumbitches that took John becomes even stronger.

"Yeah, I remember him," the postal clerk says after Dean flashes that fake FBI badge (Special Agent Peter Townsend) at her and shows her John's picture. She shudders. "Weird dude. Argued with himself the whole time he was in the store. Thought he was drunk or high or something."

Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees the old wrinkled guy in the suit standing on the street in front of the house. Same sunken red eyes, same creepy smile, and the sumbitch sees him looking and even waves at him. Fourth time Dean's seen the bastard in two weeks.

Dean doesn't want to wake Mommy or Daddy or Sammy, 'cause he knows somethin' bad'll happen to them if they do wake up, so he stops and forces himself to lie still and be quiet, and somethin' dark and cold slips in past his skin into his bones, making him jerk sideways…

Looking after Sam feels natural to Dean, it feels right, even though he hasn't done it in twenty years.

There are a few supernatural critters Dean would love to see, just to watch, not hunt down and kill, and the Phoenix is one of them, for obvious reasons.

"They call it Stockholm Syndrome, Dean," Sam's voice is low, full of concern, and for some reason that makes Dean uneasy. "You identified with the Benders. They were the only family you knew, so you stayed with them. Missouri means well, but she's full of it sometimes. I'm not stayin' home while you get Dad back."

He likes to fool himself by thinking that going after John is a rescue mission, not search and destroy too. If anything happens to John and Sam, though, all bets are off…

Sam holds the aspirin bottle in his hand and rattles it to get Dean's attention, and they both know Dean's full of shit as the lie rolls oh so smoothly out of his mouth: "No big deal, dude. I take 'em once in a while, that's all."

Dean goes out some nights and sits cross-legged on the ground with his head resting against one of the Impala's side door panels. He doesn't remember how or when his face gets wet, and he blames that on the cool night air.

Mom, Dean whispers softly as he reaches up to her. His hands shake and he never can quite touch her but that doesn't stop him from trying, each and every damn time.

Sam always wakes up when ever he hears Dean moan in his sleep, and he doesn't go back to sleep until Dean settles down again. Dean thinks that Sam sleeps straight through most nights, and Sam doesn't let him know otherwise.

Dean can't imagine living a normal life, or a long one.

On the way back Sam calls Bobby, and Bobby tells them about the latest postcard, from Stull, Kansas, written in John's blood, same as always:

MISS MY BOYS. WISH YOU WERE HERE.

"I'm gettin' tired of these jackasses playin' us," Dean growls softly as Sam flips his cell closed. They're two hours out from Stull, so that's where they're headed, but God help the sumbitches when they get there.

The shaggy haired taller one looks innocent and harmless enough as they walk into the Main Street Bar 'N' Grill in Stull, but he's a wolf cub in sheep's clothing. When Missy sees Gabriel, leather clad, all gunslingers' strut and hooded green eyes, pretending to be Dean, she knows she's in the right place.

II. Sunlight and Shadows

Don't do it, Dean. Don't. Son, you're better than that.

Lucky son of a bitch, the Demon hisses, and John smirks grimly as it sends him plunging down into total darkness.

When they back off and turn to run Dean lets them go and he doesn't even know why.

The address in Stull turns out to be a vacant lot, no house, not even a billboard, which is a relief in a way, because neither brother wants to see another message written in red, for tonight, at least.

In his mind's eye Dean hears the doors to the cages clang open heavily.

"Damn punk kid, you fuckin' cheated," the biker snarls, and as he steps forward with the pool cue raised in his hands the dude sees the shadows in Dean's eyes and it suddenly dawns on him that somethin's not quite right with this sumbitch.

It's kinda like our tradition passed down, father to son.

"Gabriel, you stay b'side me," Pa says as he takes the rifle down. "'bout time you went out huntin' with us, boy. Wanna show ya how it's done."

Tell you what, John, I'll let you talk to the boy a little, the Demon hisses.

I've hunted all my life, just like my father and his before him, Pa whispers.

Dean gets up slowly, his eyes seemingly half-drowsy from lack of sleep and the beer he's drunk. He gives them all barely a glance, but he tracks them in that huge mirrored wall behind the bar as he makes his way towards the door.

I've hunted deer, and bear. I even got a cougar once.

Dean thanks whatever gods might be listening that Sam calls it a night first, and heads back to the motel down the street. Dean scents blood in the night air, and he sits there and lanquidly nurses his second beer of the evening, makes them focus on him, not Sam.

We'll see which daddy Deano listens to…

The hair on the back of Dean's neck rises up slightly. Chairs scrape against the worn hardwood floor as the biker and his friends get up and follow him out.

But the best hunt is human.

Lee and Jerry run through the trees behind Business Suit. They laugh, whoop, and howl like wolves. Gabe quietly hunkers down in the brush with Pa and waits.

"You playin' hard to get, pretty? I like that," one of the men laughs.

The dude in the gray business suit comes crashing through the underbrush, muttering Oh God, Oh God, please God, over and over again, and Gabriel's pretty sure God has absolutely nothing to do with what's going on.

Three walking down the sidewalk behind him, a rolling roadblock, and he's not surprised when the other three appear out of the alley in front of him. They spread out around him, and Dean stops, sways a little on his feet.

We give him a weapon, give him a fighting chance.

Business Suit has even forgotten that he's got that ax in his hands. Pa chuckles and tracks him with the rifle. "You don't wanna end this too quick, Gabriel. No fun that way." Pa whispers. "You let 'em come to you."

The middle one directly behind him moves first, and Dean spins around to meet him. Dude's big, like Lee was, and as Dean punches him in the face its déjà fucking vu all over again as his fist ghosts beneath the guy's skin and the bastard turns deathly pale and lets out a strangled yelp.

Of course, only one or two a year, never enough to bring the law down.

Business Suit runs right into the trip wire Jerry set up earlier and goes sprawling, flat on his face. The ax goes sliding away into the underbrush. Pa moves then, mutters, "Come on, boy, let's go. Don't wanna be left out, do ya?" and Gabriel moves with him.

They swarm him then, try to pin his arms to his sides, and Dean pivots, head butts, punches, lashes out viciously with his arms, legs, elbows ---

Holdin' their life in your hands…

Pa, Lee and Jerry are all over Business Suit, slashing at him, clubbing him, and Gabriel stands there twitching slightly each time he hears the dull heavy thud of metal against flesh, the brittle crack of bone breaking.

seein' the fear in their eyes just before they go dark…

Business Suit stares upward, his face streaked with blood in the moonlight as Pa turns towards Gabe, glares at him, and Gabriel shies away as Pa hands him the bloody rifle

The skin around John's eyes crinkles as he gazes at his prodigal eldest son.

--- hot breath on the back of his neck, strong body odor, cheap booze and beer, Dean feels heavy weight on his back, his shoulders, he can't breathe and he lets himself go, he welcomes it –

The biker in the leather vest is on his hands and knees now, his brown eyes bloodshot, wide with fear and disbelief…

makes you feel powerful alive, don't it, boy?

and each time Dean touches them his skin tingles as he pulls something out of them, and he gets strong, they grow weak…

They finally realize that the whole fuckin' thing has gone south, he's a freak, he fights like a fucking demon or somethin', doesn't say a word, not even a grunt or growl –

These bastards are stupid, John rumbles softly, but they're still human, son. All I care about is that you're safe, you're back where you belong, with our family, with Sam.

"D-Dad?" Dean stops, startled, and the urge to kill drains out of him, all at once.

The bikers run, and that pretty, green eyed freak just stands there, blinking.

Doesn't matter, John, doesn't matter, the Demon hisses. He's still mine. You're here with me, and he's mine, all mine.

"Come on, be nice," Lee whispers. He kisses the back of Gabriel's neck and Gabe doesn't even flinch. "Just be nice and I won't hurt you much."

Images are all jumbled together though the fog in his brain, but John remembers the first time he and Bobby did recon on the Bender place, remembers the way his breath caught in his throat at the sight of a tall, gorgeous green-eyed kid, no, a young man, his hair bleached blond from the sun, coming out of the barn at the Benders' place, all dirty and disheveled. Dean, John thought. He has his mother's eyes and mouth.

Yellow eyes in the darkness as soon as his head hits the pillow back at the motel and Dean shudders as the shadow puts its arms around him, draws him close.

My boy, the Demon whispers, and it mouths the taut line of Dean's neck. My beautiful, beautiful boy…

Highway traffic slows down to a crawl as they pass the crash site, and Dean sees the tall wrinkled dude in the dark suit standing by the ambulance, surrounded by the spirits of the biker in the leather vest and his five friends from the night before.

The girl's tall and skinny, with a cap of short light brown hair; she's so clumsy stealing the two fruit pies and the carton of milk that the store clerk catches her and threatens to call "the popo" on her. Dean leans against the counter and shakes his head. Amateurs.

Sam doesn't notice, and Dean doesn't say anything.

"Dude, listen," and Dean hopes the grin on his face at least looks reassuring, "We've still got something they want. Me." Sam's pissy face says it all: he doesn't like the idea of Dean-as-bait one damn bit.

Well, hell, they can't just leave her there by the side of the road, so Sam's not surprised when Dean wordlessly opens the rear door of the Impala and bows like an English noble opening the coach door for m'lady.

Even though he won't admit it, a part of Dean wishes for death. Maybe, after he gets John back for Sam, even after all he's done, God (or whoever's in charge of this freak show) will let him be with his Mom.

"Don't sweat it, dude," Dean drawls. "Here. I'm payin' for it." He slaps a twenty down on the counter next to the six pack of beer and the two deli sandwiches he's buying and the clerk and the shoplifter-girl both look at him like he's the crazy one.

You have no fuckin' clue, Dean thinks to himself, but he doesn't say that out loud.

One carton of milk, two fruit pies, a hamburger, medium fries and half a large sized soda later she finally comes up for air and introduces herself as both brothers stare warily at her from across the table (Please don't eat me, Sam thinks), and she tells Sam and Dean her name is Meg Masters.

From her seat on the back bench of the Impala Meg frowns up when Dean cranks up "Master of Puppets." Loud. Dean sees the look on her face in the rear view mirror and he smirks at her. "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole. And back seat drivers, sweetheart, don't have anything comin'."

III. Persons of Interest

"You hurt my brother," Dean says simply, "and I'll kill you."

Hendrickson frowns. "Convenience store clerk murdered in Stull, Kansas," Agent Reidy shrugs. "Whoever did it twisted the guy's head and neck all the way around facing backwards. Your boy does weird and crazy. It may not be his style, but he was caught on tape in the store hours before it happened. It's worth a look-see, Vic."

Dean slams into the wall at an awkward angle, and when he falls heavily to the ground everything goes grey around the edges.

Sometimes Dean wishes that the Benders had just gone ahead and killed him; he figures John and Sam would have grieved but they would've moved on eventually.

Max's mother has so many knives stuck in her that she looks like a pincushion, but it's the butcher knife stuck in her eye that makes Dean's own right eye twinge painfully.

As they cross the state line into Michigan, Meg talks the whole time, about her family (fucked up), her ex-boyfriend (no-account SOB), and her current boyfriend (eternal soul-mate) among other things, and it's so damned normal and ordinary and pleasant that Dean pulls the cassette out of the player and "forgets" to put another one in just so he and Sam can listen to her.

Dean gets a funny vibe when he meets Max Miller and his parents; they're way too Stepford, but the parents smile blankly and Max thanks Sam and Dean for making sure that Meg got there safely.

Despite himself, Dean flinches when he touches Sam. Nothing happens, and they gotta get moving, because the neighbors heard the noise and more than likely have called the cops.

"He's not the same as he was, John," Missouri picked her words carefully as John stared at her, scowling. "He's a Bender now, not a Winchester, in more ways than one, and you might not be able to change him back."

Max Miller doesn't look anything like what Dean expected: tall, thin, nervous and twitchy; Dean would have figured Sam to be more Meg's type.

Hendrickson watches the tape over and over again, and after the sixteenth run-through decides it's a total waste of his time. The murder occurred in the blind spot directly underneath the cameras.

The second time Dean sets foot inside the Miller house the place smells like a slaughterhouse.

The old wrinkled dude's a reaper, probably The Reaper (as in Grim? Duh? Dean thinks) and he has to stop himself from lowering his pistol to his side and stepping towards it instead.

Max' eyes are watery, and he looks like he's on the verge of tears. "At least they didn't beat you," he tells Dean. "They took you in, gave you a home," and Dean snarks, "Well, geez, I am so fuckin' lucky then, aren't I?"

She lifts him up effortlessly with one hand and her smile is bright and cheerful as she pokes at his forehead with one long fingernail. "I can help you let that bad stuff out." "Missy," Dean breathes, and she nods.

That bloody pile of rags and torn flesh on the floor is what's left of Max' Dad, and the other pile is the brother-in-law.

He slips the gun back into his waistband, and stares at his hands, frowning, but he doesn't have time for that emo shit right now, so get your ass in gear, Dean, move it, he thinks to himself, right the hell NOW.

Dean dreams of dying at least once a week. It's always violent and it's always bloody, but he never screams out when he wakes up.

It would have been better if: I had died in the trunk of that car. It would have been better if: Dad and Sam had never found me. Dean's mind chases It would have been better around and around like a terrier chasing a rat.

"But it's your gift. The gift the yellow eyed one gave you," the reaper says.

New dream, different one this time, and he tugs his wrists against the leather straps holding him down, and the man in white smiles a little. "Hello, Gabriel. I'm Doctor Campbell. Do you remember who I am?" and the dude frowns a little when Dean looks at him and slurs, "Tha's not m'name."

Behind him something pale, wrinkled and dark moves just inside the outer edge of his vision, and Dean stands up, turns, reaches into his back waistband pulling and aiming his pistol in one smooth motion.

Meg/Missy leans in close and licks the side of Dean's face. "Max is gonna spend a little quality time with Sam, Gabriel. Don't let them use you anymore. We can go anywhere, do anything in the world. Nobody to tell us what to do, or when to do it. We can be free, you, me and Max, and all the other special children."

Dean doesn't let go until Max stops breathing.

"I won't let you take my brother," Dean rumbles, and the old wrinkled dude smiles as Dean puts himself squarely in front of Sam and raises his pistol in a two handed grip.

Two hours after dropping Meg off they've crossed the state line and Sam's cell phone goes off. Sam goes pale after he puts it to his ear, and when he blurts out "Meg?" Dean feels a pit form in his stomach as he pulls the Impala over to the side of the road.

"I've come to express our appreciation," the old wrinkled dude says, and he purses his lips when Dean frowns. "You help us in the eternal harvest, my boy. You've sent many a soul to us and we thank you for that."

Sam's on his hands and knees, pale and gagging, by the time Dean breaks into the room. Less than half a heartbeat later Dean has Max by the throat and he feels that peculiar spark go all through him as his fingers ghost underneath Max' skin.

The silver flask is still there in his pocket, and Meg/Missy hisses, backs away as Dean hits her full in the face with the holy water. Her body's still steaming as she turns and crashes through the kitchen window.

Why won't you bastards leave me the hell alone, Dean thinks, but he won't say it out loud 'cause it sounds too pathetic, too…whiny. He blinks and the old guy's gone.

"After this is over…maybe...maybe…it would be a good idea if you and Dad stayed away from me for a while…you know, separate hunts…" Dean's voice trails off when he sees that pissy look on Sam's face.

Sirens wailing in the distance, Sam's still disoriented, wobbly on his legs as a newborn colt, and Dean has to hustle. He loads Sam in, takes the wheel, and guns the Impala away from the curb and around the corner moments before several police cars pull up in front of the Miller house.

The crime scene photos from Michigan are among the worst Henrickson has ever seen, but the fingerprint evidence makes him believe there is a God after all: Dean Winchester's smudged fingerprints lifted from a doorknob in the Miller house.