~~~ CHAPTER FOUR ~~~

Dean was struck dumb for a minute and then he recovered in a sudden rush. "What the fuck are you talking about?" His eyes blazed with fury as he stared in disbelief at the man standing in front of him. "The whole damn house went up in flames that night; I was there. My mother and my brother didn't come out. They've been dead for twenty-two goddamned years! How dare you even try to tell me that that…kid upstairs is…" He broke off then, unable to say the name.

Dean had gotten dangerously close to the other man in his rage and he had to force himself to back down before he snapped further; the hunter knew all too well of what he was capable of. He spun around and rubbed at the nape of his neck, trying to staunch his rising temper before he hurt him.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Dean," Bobby replied too calmly for Dean's taste. The man's steady composure would have impressed the hunter in any other situation.

Dean whirled around on him again, emotions still soaring too high. "Next thing you're gonna tell me is my mom's alive, right? Well, fuck you," he growled. "I don't know what you want from me, but you can keep this house, keep the money, and keep whatever else is in that damn Will of yours. I'm outta here."

Dean shouldered past the older man and stormed down the stairs two at a time. He stopped to grab his jacket from the chair where he had left it earlier and then strode back through the main foyer to the front door. He had to work at the locks to get the damn thing open. Figures Samuel would have more than just one deadbolt on the door.

By then, Bobby was already halfway down the stairs, following him. "Dean-"

"Save it. I'm done with your bullshit." And then he was out the door, whipping it closed behind him, effectively cutting off anything else the man had to say.

Dean wrenched the Impala's door open and practically threw himself into the car, tossing his jacket onto the passenger seat as he slid in. He was seeing red. "Fuck!" He slammed an open palm down on the steering wheel. For a moment, he just sat there, trying to get himself to cool down.

God, who did I piss off to deserve this?

Yeah, he was little when it all happened, but he remembered his mother, her tender love and affection; he never had that after she died. John had been one hundred percent marine, single-minded in his quest for vengeance. Affection wasn't his thing; orders were. And Sammy… Well, he had only been a baby, but he was Dean's little brother; he didn't deserve to die like that. Dean felt tears prick at his eyes and he furiously wiped them away.

Old wounds… These ones were too deep to ever heal.

Dean let out a weary sigh. The whole concept was just... He wanted to believe Bobby, wanted to so bad. But he couldn't. What the man was saying just wasn't possible. Really, explain how a six month old baby could just up and disappear from a fire and then end up halfway across the country…at his grandfather's house no less.

"Shit," Dean mumbled at the thought.

Samuel… The man hated John Winchester with a passion; the elder Winchester had always said old man Campbell was crooked and couldn't be trusted.

Had the man been that fucked up? Could he have had something to do with the fire? But Dean had read his father's journal. That psychic down in Lawrence—Missouri had been her name—had sworn she'd felt something evil at the site of the house afterwards, something that had hinted at a demonic presence. Samuel couldn't have been involved. Not unless he'd fallen in with a certain yellow-eyed demon…

It wasn't unheard of, a hunter turning to the other side. Sometimes the greed for power became too much for some. And demons preyed on that, warped it to their needs.

The hunter growled. He hoped he was wrong. But, in a way, he hoped he was right because that would mean that the dark-haired, young man upstairs really was Sammy. To have his brother back…

Dean got out of the car and swung the door shut behind him. He ran shaky hands through his hair and looked up at the attic window again. This time he saw him: Sam. The younger man was standing there, staring down at Dean through the open curtains.

Could it really be?

Dean couldn't help but shiver. It was like staring at a ghost from his past…but older. "Sammy." The word fell from his lips before he was even aware of it. He felt dizzy as his subconscious mind slowly accepted the fact that his baby brother was still alive…and right fucking there.

Suddenly, the demon's words from three weeks ago came back to Dean. He'd convinced himself that they had been lies, but were they? The hunter forced himself to look away from the window as his heart rate picked up; his blood began to boil as the details of that conversation became a heavy weight on his shoulders.

There was more to this whole situation. Dean knew nothing was ever easy…not for a Winchester.

(( Three Weeks Ago ))

The moment John Winchester fell to the ground, Dean screamed. "NO!" He was helpless to do anything; Dean was too far away and it happened so suddenly.

They hadn't been expecting the demon with the yellow eyes to show up in that back alley, hadn't been prepared—the Colt had been safely stowed away in the trunk of the car—all of the evidence had pointed to some low level demon, not this.

As his father's lifeless body lay there cooling in the long shadows of the alley, the demon approached Dean with a sly smile spreading from ear to ear; the prideful look on its face shone under the dim light of a security light attached high up on the side of the building at Dean's back.

Dean was ready to die at that moment—part of him almost wanted to. The last of his family had just been taken from him. There was nothing left. He stood there and braced himself for the inevitable strike.

"Dean Winchester," the demon tsked as he raised a hand and threw the hunter up against the wall behind him causing the hunter to grunt in pain; its eyes flashed a golden yellow in the gloom.

"Just do it, you son of a bitch," Dean grit out from between clenched teeth; his eyes were narrowed in stark defiance. The back of his head hurt from cracking against the brick when he'd been thrown; the flare of pain reminded him all too well that he was alive and his father wasn't.

The demon tilted its head and its expression changed to one of questioning interest. "What exactly is it that you think I'm going to do to you?"

"Aren't you gonna kill me? It's what you do."

"Now why would I do that? I like you, Dean." The creature glanced over to John's body and then back to the hunter. "Your daddy on the other hand, I didn't care much for him. He was a bit of a pain in the ass."

Dean ignored the demon's insults against his father and pressed on. By all means, the thing should have snapped his neck already; he was curious as to why that hadn't happened yet. "What do you want from me?"

"Sorry, can't tell you—even I have a boss. But here's a hint: there are bigger plans, Dean. Apocalyptic-sized." The corner of the demon's mouth tipped up into an all too disturbing smile. "Anyway," it clasped its hands behind its back and began to pace back and forth in front of Dean; the hunter could only scowl at it which made its evil leer widen, "I already have what I need, the most precious Winchester of them all. It was a fair deal if I do say so myself; I'm pretty proud of it. Everyone got something they wanted out of it."

What the hell was the demon talking about? What plans? What deal? And after what had just happened, he himself was the last standing Winchester; Dean knew that for a fact.

The hunter didn't have time to think it over before the creature chuckled and stopped in front of him, inches from his face. "Oh, I know what's goin' through that pretty little noggin of yours, Dean." It cricked its neck from side to side, still grinning. "And you couldn't be further from the truth. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know."

"Fuck off." Dean tried to move, but he was thoroughly cemented to the wall at his back.

"Such words. Didn't your daddy teach you better? – But to get back to what I was saying, the Winchesters aren't as endangered as you think, Dean-o. The line doesn't end with you."

"You're lying. Demons always lie."

The thing cackled at Dean's words. Suddenly, the meatsuit's head tilted back and a plume of black smoke poured forth from its mouth and into the night sky.

The demonic grip holding Dean to the wall faded with the demon's departure and he fell to the ground, stunned. Ignoring the now inanimate—and probably long dead—body at his feet, he immediately crawled over to his father, the last few minutes of conversation with the demon forgotten for now.

"Dad," Dean cried as he reached the man. His calloused fingers clenched into the thick leather folds of his father's jacket as he kneeled beside him. "You can't leave me, Dad. Please…"

Up until now, he'd been able to hold back his tears, but now they spilled hotly down his cheeks and splashed onto the older man's face. Dean never felt so alone.

He'd failed…failed his father…failed his family.

(( Present Day ))

Images of his father's body burning on a wooden pyre flashed through Dean's mind and he once more found himself blinking back unbidden tears. He wiped an open palm over his face and took a deep breath. Dean knew one day he'd be there, too—probably sooner rather than later—but he couldn't dwell on it, not right now. He had other things to deal with…

Like what was all that shit the yellow-eyed demon had been talking about, plans and deals? If Samuel had made some kind of deal, pact—whatever—with it, then why was Sam here? Why was he even still alive? Shouldn't the demon have dragged him off to some dark corner of Hell or something?

And then there were the sigils which were drawn all over the attic walls; also the books and research on demons… Sam clearly knew something. Dean wondered what it was and if Bobby had any idea what it all meant. (The man wasn't a hunter, but Dean could tell he wasn't stupid either.)

He paced the length of the car several times as he thought. And then Dean found himself getting back into it. It was still early, but he needed a drink before he dealt with everything, one last hurrah. He went to start the Impala, but cursed when he remembered it was Sunday. Dean couldn't get liquor anywhere; everything was closed today.

"Damn stupid laws," he mumbled.

He got back out of the car again. Swallowing tightly, he squared his shoulders and strode back up to the house. Dean walked through the front door, ignoring Bobby who was sitting in the living room again—almost as if he knew Dean would be back—and he headed straight to the kitchen. He started flipping through the cabinets, one after the other. Samuel had been a hunter; Dean knew the man would have a stash somewhere.

"It's in the cabinet over the fridge," Bobby's voice called out from the other room.

Dean reached up and opened the cabinet—he wasn't going to ask how the man knew what he was looking for—and he grabbed one of the several bottles of whiskey in it. (Dean wasn't so good at swearing off the habit; and in a case like this, he felt like he deserved a drink or two…or a bottle.) Liquor in hand, Dean stepped around the counter and walked out into the backyard, unscrewing the cap as he went.

It's five o'clock somewhere, he thought to himself as he took a long pull from the bottle. It was like liquid fire, burned as it went down his throat, but it was what Dean needed right now.

Dean didn't know how long he sat out there, legs hanging over the edge, eyes staring down at the churning waters below. He wasn't inebriated yet—it took a lot more than what he'd drunk to get him that far these days—but the sharp edge of his emotions had dulled some. More than half the bottle was gone already.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Dean almost smiled. Bobby had been considerate enough not to sneak up on him this time.

"Might as well take a seat." Dean waved a hand out, loosely gesturing to the bare rock next to him. He didn't bother looking at the older man as he lowered himself to the ground beside him, muttering something about being too old for sitting on the edge of cliffs.

When Bobby was seated, Dean spoke up. "So that's really him…Sam?"

"Sure is."

"Huh." Dean took a draught from the whiskey. He didn't say anything for a while, and then, "How long's he been here?" Dean was still trying to figure out how the demon was involved with his—fuck—his brother. He still couldn't quite come to grips with the fact that Sammy was alive and kicking.

"Forever, I suppose. I came on back in, oh…late '88, I believe. He was a scrawny little runt then; you'd never know now. Your mom-"

Dean's heart nearly ground to a halt. "Wait, my mom's here? Where-?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. You're about a year too late."

The hunter's lips tightened and he nodded. That was obviously asking too much. But, god, she'd been alive all these years and his father had never known. The man had devoted his entire existence to getting vengeance on the demon that had supposedly started the blaze that had killed half his family. The fact that she'd been here only added to the building mystery.

From a fire in northeast Kansas to Smalltown, Maine… How had Samuel kept them here? Wouldn't his mother have known her oldest child and husband were still alive? What lies had Samuel told her? Dean would get to the bottom of it; he didn't care what he had to do. He owed it to his family…and to Sam.

"What happened to her?" Dean asked after a while. He had to know.

"They think it was an aneurysm."

Another swig of whiskey. Dean tossed a rock over the edge. Where it actually landed, he had no idea.

"My dad, he got killed a few weeks back."

"Sorry t'hear that," Bobby said solemnly.

"Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time. Hunters, we die bloody, you know. We don't expect to live a long life. – Since we're on the subject, what exactly happened to the old bastard?"

Bobby looked over at Dean. Something in his eyes told the hunter Samuel's death wasn't exactly Kosher.

"Found him in his study a couple months ago. Heard a racket down there and I came runnin'. The door was locked so it took me a second to get it opened. Just as I got in there, I saw the tail-end of some black smoke stuffin' itself out the window and your granddaddy was on the floor, neck broken like nothin' I've ever seen before. I'll be a man and admit it, it shook me up some, whatever that thing was."

The hunter's gaze snapped over to the man at the mention of black smoke. Demons? Demons had killed his grandfather? Shit. The man had been a hunter, and a good one from what he'd heard. Why hadn't he warded the house? And if there was a demon involved, where was the second body if the thing had smoked out?

Then it dawned on Dean. He knew what had happened, had seen it before a time or two. One body meant the demon had possessed Samuel and killed him from inside while the man was defenseless. It wasn't a demon's usual modus operandi, but demons weren't known to be particular.

Dean had a niggling suspicion that this all had something to do with the yellow-eyed demon and whatever Samuel and it had done to get his mom and Sam here. If so, that meant Sam could still be in danger; the chances of it were pretty high. Dean might have just found out less than an hour ago that he had a brother, but his big brother instincts were already kicking into gear.

"Do you mind if I take a look around the study?" Dean asked.

Bobby lifted his brow at the request. "Son, you own this place now, well aside from a few John Hancocks, and that's just a technicality. You could paint the house pink for all I care."

Dean managed a small smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

He stood up and reached a hand out to the older man, helping him up from the ground. Bobby grunted and cursed his old body.

"I gotta make Sam something to eat. I'll make you a couple of sandwiches while you do what you need to. Drinkin's not too good on an empty stomach."

As they walked back up to the house, Dean asked, "So, Sam, is he, uh, all there? Seems a little messed up."

"It's a long story, but the short of it is, yes. And he's whip smart if I do say so myself. The kid learned three languages—including Latin—all within a year's time; he's got a knack for things like that, you know," Bobby said, like a father who was proud of their child. "I'll tell you everything you wanna know, but let's take care of lunch first. The kid's on a schedule and he's had a stressful enough day as it is."

"Yeah, okay." Dean opened the door and stepped into the house. The heat from the fire instantly melted away the chill that he hadn't realized had settled into him. "So, study?"

Bobby pointed a door out across the hall. "Downstairs." He reached into his pocket and Dean could hear the muffled sound of keys before the man drew them out. Bobby separated one out from the bunch and handed them over. "Take your time. The place is pretty organized, so you should be able to find your way around."

Dean took the keys with a 'thanks'. Seconds later, he was flicking on the lights to the basement and heading downstairs.

The room he entered was huge, taking up the entire basement level of the house. A large mahogany desk sat at the far end of the room; papers and binders were stacked in neat piles on one side; a computer monitor sat in one corner. Bookshelves lined the wall behind the desk as well as the wall to Dean's left; they were like Sam's bookcases upstairs, filled with ancient tomes. (For a moment, Dean wondered how many of Sam's came from down here. He was sure more than a few.)

The floor and walls reflected the upstairs décor: raw, polished wood, with bare beams and an open ceiling. Several expensive-looking Oriental rugs covered different sections of the floor. To Dean's right was a sitting area with a leather lounge chair and a small sofa. Another fireplace sat at its head.

Jesus, this man spared no expense.

As Dean took in the room, he noted a door off in the back corner near the desk. It was made out of what looked like thick steel. It didn't take a lot of imagination to know what was probably behind it…and it wasn't the Great and Powerful Wizard either. Every hunter had their arsenal; Dean was sure Samuel was no exception.

He stepped into the room and looked up at one of the high windows, specifically the one closest to Samuel's desk. Dean pictured what had happened that night as he approached it and reached a hand up. He swept his fingertips along the sill of the window and, as sure as shit, they were coated in a thin film of yellow. Sulfur. Gotta love demons; they never bothered to clean up after themselves.

The first thing he was going to do if he was going to be here for more than a day was to lock this whole house down, ward it against anything that could be a danger to him and his brother. Dean knew this war with the yellow-eyed demon was far from over.

Dean wiped his hand off on his jeans and took a seat in the high-backed leather office chair. He attempted to open one of the desk drawers; it was locked, as well as the rest. "Damn." He briefly flipped through the keys, but none of them were small enough to fit the locks. He wasn't worried. It was nothing his set of lock picks couldn't handle. But then again, Bobby probably knew where the key was and he wouldn't have to go picking locks. It was funny how being a hunter made him think like a petty criminal more often than not. Dean shrugged it off. That was his life.

Giving up on the drawers for the time being, Dean turned on the computer and waited for it to boot up. A login screen came up asking for a password. He ground his teeth into his bottom lip as he considered what the magic word was.

Would the man have been so simple?

Dean flexed his fingers and began to type different versions of his mother's name into the field: 'Mary Elizabeth', 'Mary Elizabeth Winchester', 'Mary Campbell', 'Mary Elizabeth Campbell'. The screen flashed red telling him each was incorrect. Okay. Maybe not. He tried again. '120554', his mom's birthdate. Incorrect.

Dean huffed out a breath and swept a hand through his hair. He frowned at the monitor, mind going through everything he knew about the man, which wasn't much. Then he leaned forward and typed, '110283', the date of the fire. Dean pressed 'Enter'.

And he was in.

Dean's first thought was: That sick bastard.

He clicked through folder after folder. Most of it had to do with hunting, some of it expenses. Time became lost to Dean as he searched through the computer not really sure what he was looking for. And then he stumbled onto a file of pictures. Dean's breath caught in his throat. They were pictures of his mom and Sam. Dean had to blink his eyes to keep his vision from blurring as he scrolled through them. He swallowed the knot that had formed in his throat.

At first glance, the pair had seemed so happy, an adoring mother with her infant child. But as Dean looked closer, he saw that his mother's eyes didn't have that spark of life there; she looked…sad. Sammy on the other hand had always had a smile on his face, deep dimples carving into his chubby cheeks, bright hazel eyes so full of the life that wasn't in their mother's. But over time, the luster in Sam's eyes seemed to fade as well. It made Dean wonder what had happened.

"Dean!" Dean jumped when he heard his name called. "You ever comin' up outta that hole?"

Dean glanced up at the window. It was dark out. "Shit," he muttered. He looked down at his watch. He'd been down there for hours.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'll be right up."

Dean stared at the picture on the screen for another minute. It was a picture of his mom and what he guessed was maybe a four year old Sam plastering a big, wet kiss to her cheek. In the background was the attic.

...tbc...

Author's Note: Please be sure to comment. Let me know what you think (good or bad). I hope to see you again in a couple of days...