A/N: To my Russian-speaking readers: As Brothers We Will Stand is now being translated into your language by the lovely happyviolence7 over on your fanfiction site. The link is in my profile if you're interested!


Dean walked in the door at five-thirty only to have a sobbing Kayleigh rush at his legs and wrap her arms around his waist.

"Don't make me go!" she wailed, burying her face in his shirt.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, looking around for his wife. Liz walked in from the kitchen looking stressed. She shook her head at their daughter.

"She doesn't want to go to piano lessons," Liz said.

"Again?" Dean asked, frowning. Since they enrolled Kayleigh in the music program a month ago, it had been tears every time. For some reason, the little girl got upset every time she had to go. Dean and Liz would have pulled her out of the program but Kayleigh always came back smiling at the end of the lessons. It was just getting there that was the problem and it was obvious from the look on Liz's face that she was losing patience this time around.

"Don't make me go!" Kayleigh cried again. Even though she was now eight and getting bigger, Dean picked her up and carried her to her bedroom.

"We're leaving in ten minutes," Liz warned him as he passed by and he nodded to signal that he heard. He shut the door of the bedroom and set Kayleigh on her bed. She sniffed loudly, pushing strands of hair out of her face.

"Why don't you want to go?" Dean asked, sitting next to her. She leaned into him and he felt her little body quake as she pulled in a shuddering breath.

"I just don't."

"You know that's not a good answer."

"I know. But I don't want to go."

"You had so much fun last time, remember? And you know Mom takes you out to dinner every time you go to a lesson. Don't you want that?"

"I want you to take me." Dean sighed.

"I can't take you everywhere," he said. "You have to let Mom do some stuff with you. It's not fair to her if she never sees you." She turned her big brown eyes up at him, tears still leaking down her cheeks, which were flushed from crying.

"But you have to be there to protect me."

"Kayleigh, listen to me," Dean said in a low, firm voice. "Nothing out there is going to get you, okay?" He paused then said, "There's no such thing as monsters." She shook her head in disbelief.

"Yes, there are. You're just saying that 'cause you're a grown up and I'm a kid." Dean switched tactics.

"Your mother can protect you just as well as I can." Kayleigh looked doubtful, pulling at the hem of her skirt.

"She's not as big as you." Dean laughed.

"But she's a lot smarter than me."

"Nuh-uh," Kayleigh said. "You're the smartest person in the whole wide world." Dean bent down and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks, but your Mom is plenty smart enough. You'll be fine." Her eyes wandered around the room as she thought it over.

"Can we get dessert after dinner?"

"You know that's not up to me. I'm staying here with your sister." Kayleigh got down from the bed and made a face.

"She's in a bad mood."

"You just worry about yourself," Dean said. "I'll deal with Rebecca." Kayleigh rubbed her palms over her face, clearing the tears away. She gave Dean a small smile.

"I guess I can go," she said, picking up the music book that was at the end of the bottom of the bed, half-open. Dean guessed it had been thrown there during the temper tantrum he had walked in on.

"That's my girl," he said. "I'm proud of you." She walked to the door of the room while Dean stayed on the bed, watching her leave. She was halfway out the door when she turned around, a serious expression on her face as she looked Dean dead in the eyes.

"You're wrong about something, Daddy," she said and Dean cocked his head.

"What's that?"

"Monsters are real. I've seen them." He was about to assure her that they absolutely weren't when she turned around and left, leaving Dean as speechless as he could get. Again, the nagging voice in the back of his head told him that she was just a little kid; she had no idea about the supernatural. But the conviction in her tone reminded him of those people he had saved back in the days, the ones who had seen something they would never forget. And he didn't like that. Not at all.

xxx

All Dean wanted to do once the two left was kick off his boots and watch the baseball game that was happening on TV. There was an unopened bottle of Scotch sitting in the liquor cabinet that was calling out to him. But instead, he knocked and pushed opened the door to Rebecca's bedroom. The teenager was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling while headphones sprouted like veins from her ears. She hardly glanced at Dean when he walked in.

The two of them had a tricky relationship. They liked each other, even loved each other as a stepdaughter and stepfather should but things had been more difficult lately as Rebecca grew older and more wary about Dean. She was ever curious to know where he came from and because he wasn't about to tell her he spent his childhood with a gun in each hand, she grew irritated with him. Quickly.

"Hey," he said, standing next to her bed. She rolled her eyes to look at him, one hand still on her iPod.

"Hi."

"What are listening to?"

"Nothing."

"Must be good," Dean said sarcastically. Rebecca sighed and paused the music.

"What do you want?"

"Hey," Dean said, offended. "Let's be civil to each other, okay?"

"Fine."

"Are you hungry? What should I make for dinner?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm not hungry." Clearly something was up and Dean sat down on the bed while she scooted up the headboard, crossing her arms in front of her chest, mouth drawn in a straight line.

"What's up?" he prompted. "You're unusually snippy tonight." Instead of getting upset at the insult, Rebecca just looked away and bit her lip. When she did that, Dean could get a glimpse of the little girl she had once been. Before her world had been turned upside down. As cautious as she was around Dean, the ex-Hunter understood the girl's troubles better than she thought. He too had been the older child of a broken home and although Liz was the parent John had never been, he would bet this year's salary that Rebecca felt responsible for her little sister.

"You wouldn't be interested."

"Of course I'm interested. Is it school?" He watched her bite her lip harder.

"Kind of."

"Tell me," said Dean. "Then we can go make grilled cheeses."

"There's this project," Rebecca started. "And I can't do it. So I'm going to fail the class and everyone is going to think I'm dumb."

"You're not dumb," Dean said automatically. She wasn't. Even at thirteen, Rebecca was getting straight A's and was in all the honors classes that her small school supplied. She never asked for help when it came to homework and studying, something Dean was grateful for. She still didn't know he had never graduated.

"What's the project?" he said. "I could help." She rolled her eyes and sighed again.

"That's the problem. You won't help. Neither will Mom."

"Hey, I know we're not as smart as you," he teased. "But you can still ask."

"It's a family tree project," she said bluntly and that shut Dean up. She raised her eyebrows as if to say I told you so. "I'm supposed to research my ancestors, where I come from, all that."

"Yes, you should definitely ask your mother about that," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I tried. She won't tell me. And there's no way I'm talking to my," she glanced at him, "my other dad. Therefore I'm going to fail." Her gaze turned hopeful and Dean wanted to crawl out of the room at the anticipation of the next question.

"Unless you help me," she said. But Dean was already shaking his head, standing up. Sam's face flashed to the front of his mind, eyes bright with laughter, and Dean's breath caught in his throat.

"Are you okay?" Rebecca asked, sitting up straighter. Dean nodded and took a step back.

"Told you you wouldn't help," she said bitterly but her expression was still concerned.

"I want to," Dean said at last. "But I can't."

"Why not? Is it because I'm not your real daughter? Is it because I don't call you Dad like Kayleigh? I know you're my father now. I get that."

"No," Dean whispered then cleared his throat. "It has nothing to do with any of that."

"If I was your real daughter, you would tell me," she insisted, watching him. Dean was trapped. He had to tell her something; he wanted to, but couldn't. Couldn't make his lips form those three names. He'd been so good for so long, here with his girls, and he was afraid that if he let the past in, he would fall apart. But how do you tell that to a thirteen-year-old girl who is still trying to figure out where Dean fit in her life?

"I know you had a brother," Rebecca said and Dean's heart fell. He didn't want to talk about Sam, not to this girl who was so much still a child. "He was married to Aunt Kat, wasn't he? You guys never told us that but I've heard you talking to Mom." Her words just kept coming, digging into Dean like a knife twisted into his chest.

"Sam died a few years ago," he said finally. "And to be honest, it's not something I talk about." Rebecca looked taken aback; of all the things her adolescent mind had concocted, this was not one of them. She had assumed that Dean's brother had been like her dad, a good-for-nothing drunk who had run out on his family at every convenient turn.

"What about your parents? Just tell me one thing," she pleaded. "You don't have to tell me about…Sam. Just one thing so I won't fail the class."

It was her wide eyes and pouting lips that did him in. The way she looked at him, full of innocence and sincerity. She really was still a little girl, not even close to the grown-up version of herself she liked to pretend to be. And she was sharing her life with Dean. He took her to swim practice and to the mall and one day he might even walk her down the aisle. He owed it to her to give her some part of himself, however small.

"Okay," he said, sitting back on the edge of the bed but not looking at her. He kept his gaze straight ahead.

"Really?" Rebecca said, scrambling off the bed and grabbing a notebook and pen as if she didn't believe he would stay.

"Yeah. I'll tell you some things. But when I'm done talking, I'm done, okay?" She nodded, readying her pen.

"My mom, Mary, was real pretty," he started. At least with Mary it was easier to talk about her in the past tense; he'd been doing it almost his whole life. "She was blonde and had these gorgeous green eyes."

"Like yours," Rebecca interrupted and Dean cocked his head in her direction, startled at the observation.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess like mine. Anyway, she used to tuck me into bed every night and she let me sleep with my toys in my bed so I wouldn't be scared of the monsters under the bed."

"Is she still alive?" Rebecca asked even though she had already guessed the answer. Dean shook his head.

"No. She died when I was little. There was a fire."

"That's awful," Rebecca said. She had no idea Dean had been through all this. He seemed like such an easy-going guy, quick to smile, quick to make the rest of the family laugh with his jokes and cheesy sense of humor.

"It was," Dean said, tongue darting out to wet his lips as if he could taste the smoke from all those years ago. "So my Dad raised me."

"What was his name?"

"John. John Winchester." He watched her scribble that name in bubbly letters that filled up two lines of the paper. Above that she had written Mary and drawn an arrow between the two names.

"Was your dad like you?" Dean didn't know in what way she meant the question but he shook his head all the same.

"My father loved me but after my Mom died he…got depressed."

"He never got married again?" Dean almost snorted at the idea.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I think he loved my mom too much. He just couldn't love anyone else." Rebecca was quiet, staring down at the two names she had written. At the top of the page were the four names of her family: Mom, Rebecca, Kayleigh, and then Dean.

"Dean, can I ask a question about you and Mom?" Even though she had never asked that before, Dean found himself nodding.

"Sure."

"How can you fall in love with more than one person? I thought that you met one person for your whole life and that was it. Like your mom and dad. But I think Mom really loves you. But I know she loved my other dad too sometimes. I don't get it." Dean thought carefully before answering; it had taken a long time for Rebecca to become long enough to confide something like this to him and he didn't want to screw it up.

"People can fall out of love, Rebecca. You grow up and grow apart and realize that you don't want the same things anymore. Your mom and dad just didn't value the same things anymore."

"That's sad," she commented, face screwed up in concentration as she took it all in. "Then how do you know if you'll fall out of love? What if you and Mom fall out of love and you leave?" Now Dean understood better where this was going. He turned towards the young girl, careful to keep his voice steady and assuring.

"I'm not going to leave," he said. "I love your mother very much. Sometimes, I love her so much it hurts." Her eyes widened and he smiled. "Someday, if you're lucky, you might know what I mean."

"There's something I have to tell you," she said. "But you have to promise not to tell Mom." Dean hesitated.

"If it's something serious, I have to tell your mother, Rebecca. You know that. We don't keep secrets from each other."

"It's not bad," she assured him, the notebook abandoned beside her. She wouldn't meet his eyes, staring instead at the quilt on her bed, picking at a loose thread. "Not like that."

"You can tell me anything," Dean said. "Even if we have to tell your mother something, I'll always make sure to help you figure it out." Rebecca took a deep breath.

"I like you," she said and Dean thought he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. "A lot. I think I might like you more than my other dad. Is that wrong?" Dean wanted to pull his stepdaughter into his arms and hold her tight but he stayed where he was. He had a feeling this had probably been bothering Rebecca for a while by the nervous way she kept averting her eyes from him.

"No, sweetheart. It's not wrong. You can love people in different ways. You might love your other Dad because he was there first and you guys had some good times together. But you might also love me because I'm here now and I'm going to be here for the rest of your life. Your other father and I are very different kind of guys, I want you to know that. I will never hurt you or your sister or your mother." Rebecca's head snapped up and all nervousness was gone from her expression as she looked him straight in the eye.

"Even if you get mad?" Dean recognized himself in the fierceness of her tone, the deep, probing look in her gaze.

"Especially if I get mad," Dean promised. "It's never okay to hurt someone else because of what you're feeling." Rebecca leaned back against her pillows.

"I don't think I'll fail now," she announced, closing the notebook and setting it on the table next to her bed. She was careful to cap the pen so it didn't bleed on her blanket.

"Atta girl," Dean said. "Now can we go make dinner?"

"I guess," she said but Dean thought she looked a little happier as the two of them made their way into the kitchen.

"Let me guess, you want pickles and spinach on your sandwich?" he teased, pulling ingredients out of the fridge as Rebecca got out two plates and glasses.

"Ew, no. That's so gross."

"Hey don't knock it til you try it." She cocked her head and failed at her usual smart-alec retort.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"What you just said reminded me of something," she said, guilt tracing her features. She pulled her long hair into a ponytail only to find she didn't have a hair tie and let it fall back over her shoulders. It was something she had picked up from her mother, Dean noticed; Liz did the same exact thing.

"What is it?"

"Someone knocked on our door today. Some strange guy."

Dean whipped around, a piece of bread in each hand but he was careful to keep his voice calm.

"Were they selling something?" Rebecca shook her head and folded two napkins into triangles, tucking them beside the plates.

"No, but he asked for you though."

"Did he leave a name?" Dean asked. He didn't know many people in this town. He had been over at the garage most of the day so it couldn't have been one of the guys form there and Rebecca would have recognized one of the neighbors. Panic gripped Dean like a vise.

"I'm trying to remember. He was really weird though, Dean."

"Weird how?" Rebecca shrugged and sat at the counter, watching him. She raised her eyebrows, looking past him.

"I think you're burning dinner."

"Shit," Dean said, turning back to the smoking sandwiches and waving a towel to clear the air. "Uh, don't tell your mother I said that." He could practically feel her smirking behind his back.

"I won't."

Dean placed both palms on the counter and leaned over it with hunched shoulders. There was definitely someone coming after him and he had no way of knowing who – or what – it was. He had to get by himself and make some phone calls. He categorized them in his head. First Kevin to make sure nothing was wrong at the bunker. And then Garth to see if he could rustle up some Hunters in the area to watch the house for a few days. Dean hated relying on others – especially when 'others' were the unpredictable hunter kind – but he couldn't take a chance, not with his girls.

"Dean? Dean!" He turned around to find Rebecca staring at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said automatically.

"Are you in trouble?"

"What? No. Why would you say that?"

"Because as soon as I mentioned a stranger knocking on the door, you burned dinner and then zoned out and now are acting really weird. Do you owe someone money?"

"Huh," said Dean but he wasn't really listening. If it was a demon, he would use the knife and one of the holy water flasks in the bedroom closet. If it was an angel...he thought about that for a second. He'd have to see if he had an angel blade in the back of the Impala.

"Dammit, Cas," he said, muttering the Angel's name for the first time in over a year. "What are you doing?"

"Hey!" Rebecca said, face brightening. She was at the stove now, cooking her own sandwich.

"What?" Dean almost snapped, reining in his temper at the last second. Rebecca seemed unperturbed, sliding her sandwich onto a plate.

"That was the guy's name. How'd you know?"

"What was?" Dean said impatiently.

"Cas. Well, no it was something longer. Weirder." Dean's heart skipped a beat, no, skipped about four beats at the mention of the angel on his doorstep.

"Castiel," he said slowly and Rebecca nodded, mouth full of bread and cheese. For some reason that didn't make Dean feel any better. The last time the two of them had spoken, they had agreed to stay away from each other unless there was an extreme emergency. Dean had made it clear to the angel he was done with hunting.

"Castiel," Rebecca tried the name out. "I've never heard that one before." Dean tried to remain calm but it was difficult considering the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body. This was so bad. So, so bad.

Castiel was back and Dean had no idea why. Absolutely no idea.


A/N: Things are getting a tad interesting, aren't they? Thoughts?