Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

Warning: Bobby makes an appearance, so expect cussing from here on in...

Happy Birthday Chapter Four

"I need to talk to you," Dean said as soon as Bobby was gone.

San huffed, "You're really not him, are you?"

Dean looked at him with an expression of irritation for what felt like a long moment. A blush spread across his cheeks, "I'm more him than you could possibly understand," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "How long have you known?"

For one awful moment Sam thought he was going to see his brother cry, now it was his turn to blush. He studied his boots with an intensity more akin to his approach to research.

"A couple of weeks," he muttered.

Dean looked at him in shock, "How?" he said at last, which wasn't really the question he wanted to ask.

"The photo from my birthday. I could see... your eyes."

"Oh, I s'pose I should've got rid of it. Do you still have it?"

"Er, yeah. Why?"

"Cause it's a nice photo," Dean said shaking his head as if Sam had lost track of his senses.

Sam had felt like he'd been losing his sanity ever since he'd found the photo in the first place, and this conversation really wasn't helping, it was all too surreal. When he'd decided he needed his brother no matter what, he'd approached it in the typical Winchester fashion of burying his head in the sand and avoiding any thoughts of the reality of the situation.

Dean still didn't look satisfied, "So what are we going to do about this?" he asked.

Sam didn't want to think about this, he couldn't think about it, so went back to studying his boots. I am not going to cry, goddammit, he thought.

"Do we have to do anything? I missed you so much when I was at Stanford, then with Dad gone and Jess..." he looked at his older brother with wet puppy-dog eyes.

"We seemed so close and we were really getting on. For the first time in my life I didn't feel like I was draggin' you down. Then I found out you weren't... you.

"But you're so kind to me, you don't seem evil. Is that so wrong? And I just tried not to think about..." sobbed Sam, unable to continue.

The part of Dean that wasn't Dean wondered what exactly he'd got himself into, with this family that was somehow almost as messed up as his own, as he pulled his brother into a tight hug.

~#~

"I'm a younger sibling too," said Dean in a gentle voice, after Sam had managed to compose himself, "And like you I didn't want to get into the family business, y'know, hurting people, killing them.

"I saw my chance and took it. Growing up, I did some terrible things - mainly to stop my own family from killing me. But I'm outta that now, and being able to pay it back is just the cherry on top as far as I'm concerned."

"And back at Beccy's... was that...?" asked Sam, his voice hesitant and fearful.

If he was truthful with himself, it horrified Dean this hadn't been Sam's first question, but he pushed that emotion way down.

"Your brother? No, that was my brother," said Dean.

"I'm... sorry," said Sam, not really sure what else he should say.

"Don't be. He was a vicious bastard, we had no choice, believe me, he would've enjoyed torturing and killing you."

"And Dean?" Sam asked, his heart in his mouth, but in that heart he already knew the answer.

Dean was silent for a long time. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice catching.

He looked down at his feet, too ashamed to look Sam in the eye, but there were some things that needed to be said.

"Normally when we take a take a shape we can only hold it for a day or so, before we literally burn it out. When we took your brother's shape we found we could hold it indefinitely, it's like there's something different about him, something... special.

"Whatever it is, I can sense it about you too. I know it sounds crazy, but it's almost like you Winchesters are made to contain something... terrible.

"But for my family, to stay in one form is heresy. My brother felt it was an affront to our Mother.

"Dean was already in a bad way after my brother grabbed him – we can create a mental link to copy memories, I'd already escaped when I felt it break... I'm sorry, I know I should've tried to help him, but I was just so desperate to get away.

"You think your family's messed up - your lot are a walk in the goddamn park compared to my mine," Dean said as this time his brother pulled him into a hug.

~#~

Bobby reflected, not for the first time, that there was no such thing as a simple case, and that being drawn into thinking so was just an invitation for fate to give you a damn good ass whuppin'.

The werewolf hunt had been a total bust, so much so that he wished he'd never called in the Winchester boys, and the worst of it was that it was all his own damn fault.

He'd been so sure he'd known what he was doing, but he'd missed that were two of the damn beasts, which meant that while they dealt with the first creature, the second one – still in half-human form - and enraged at the death of its mate, had managed to grab a hold of Dean.

Bobby had tried to shoot the werewolf with his shotgun, aiming low to avoid Dean's eyes, knowing that while the special silver nitrate shells he'd made would sting like a bitch, they'd not cause the hunter any lasting damage.

Trouble was that Sam must've forgotten they weren't using normal ammo, because he'd shoved the gun to one side just as Bobby had taken his shot.

Luckily, Sam had then managed to shove a silver blade into the werewolf's heart, but only after receiving an impressive-looking claw raking down one side for his trouble.

But it was Dean that Bobby was worried about, although almost all of the buckshot had missed him, the hunter had been bitten. He'd only caught a quick look at the wound on Dean's left arm, but it had been enough to see that it was nasty bite and clearly all the way down to the bone.

Dean now looked pale and feverish, with large, dark purple marks underlining his eyes, and his breath rattled in his chest like an asthmatic three times his age.

From the moment he'd let the dysfunctional Winchester clan wangle their way into his grizzled old heart, Bobby had made a promise to himself that, if it ever proved necessary, he would willingly raise the boys as his own.

He'd always wanted kids of his own and he'd been so smug that he could do a better job than John's piss-poor effort, it now seemed that fate was going to pay him back big time for his hubris.

Bobby could tell that the young man was trying to stifle his cries of pain as he and Sam carried him to the car - knowing Dean it was probably to avoid upsetting his younger brother.

"You gotta get it off me", moaned Dean, as he was manhandled into the back seat. Bobby was worried, it seemed that Dean was confused and still thought he was under attack.

"It's okay, son, you're safe from them now", Bobby tried to reassure in his usual gruff manner, trying not to get irritated with Sam as he fussed about like a mother hen, but just managed to get in the way.

Bobby knew that there was a time and place for sympathetic words, but sometimes people were best served with a hard cold dose of the truth, "Listen son, I'm not gonna sugar-coat it, but you've been bit bad. I don't need to tell you what that means do I?"

Sam went pale and looked on in horror at his words, but Dean gave him the strangest of looks, almost appraising.

"I know a doctor who... understands these things, and there's just a chance that if he takes off the arm soon enough that you might not be infected," Bobby explained, getting frustrated as Dean started shaking his head. Damn fool boy, we don't have time to argue about this.

"No," said Dean, "I can't go to a doctor."

"Sam, talk some sense into your brother."

A strange look passed between the Winchesters, they'd always been able to speak volumes to each other with simple glances even as kids. Bobby was surprised to see an abject look of guilt on Sam's face and a quick flick of a look in his direction followed by a nod, Oh no, here it comes, he thought.

Dean held up the blood soaked arm that Bobby had bandaged in haste earlier, "Look at it, Bobby," he said in a no-nonsense voice.

Bobby gave him a hard look, but did as instructed. As he unwound the bandages he found that his hands were shaking. The wound looked sore, but it also looked weeks old.

He jumped back, bringing up his shotgun, "What the hell are you?" he demanded.

Dean pulled back the neck of his shirt, showing the spatter of angry, infected burn marks eating into his shoulder where he been caught by the silver nitrate rounds.

"Shifter," he said.

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he centered the shotgun on Dean's chest, his finger unconsciously tightening on the trigger.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow you away," he growled.

"No Bobby, stop," yelled Sam.

"You too, Sam?" asked Bobby in disgust.

"No," said Sam as he pulled out the silver dagger he'd used on the werewolf earlier and with a small hiss of pain made a shallow cut on his lower arm, showing that his flesh wasn't burning.

He might be convinced that Sam wasn't a shifter, but he wasn't quite ready to let him off the hook yet, "You knew about this?" asked Bobby incredulously.

Sam nodded while carefully moving nearer to the hunter and into the line of fire between Dean and the shotgun.

"What about your brother?" Bobby confronted Sam.

"He is my brother," argued Sam.

"Damn fool Winchesters," said Bobby, not for the first time that day, "It's a monster,"

"Maybe, but I'm not the enemy, Bobby," said Dean through teeth clenched against the pain, as he tried, but failed, to push his brother back out of Bobby's line of fire.

Bobby stood torn with indecision as he looked from the monster impersonating Dean, its familiar and well-loved face vulnerable and twisted in pain, and Sammy all usual puppy-dog eyes. And both of those idjits ready and willing to take a bullet for the other – typical damn Winchesters, he thought to himself and at that moment coming to his decision.

"Oh balls," he swore, lowering his gun and metaphorically throwing his hands up in despair. "You boys are gonna be the death of me one day," he groaned.

~#~

Author Note:

Sorry this one took such a long time, but this whole thing did start as a one shot - and there's maybe one more already in the pipeline...

Thank you for all the reviews, alerts, and faves; it's always gratifying to know that others have read and enjoyed.

Please excuse the lack of firearm knowledge – I've assumed that since rock salt shotgun rounds do actually exist in real-life, then silver nitrate - which is just another white crystalline solid - could too. Although even if you were human it would still burn and stain the skin, rather than just sting.

Don't know if it's canon or mythology, but in this fic's universe silver burns weres and shifters, and a werewolf bite can only infect a human.