You Can Hear The Whistle Blow A Hundred Miles

by Bommaloo

Sam leaves at 15. Unable to force himself out of love with Dean, & resentful that John thinks him useless, he fakes his age & joins the marines, determined to prove that being gay & not being Dean doesn't mean he can't hack it. After years of excelling in the marines, mastering his psychic powers & using his visions to protect his family long-distance, Sam is snatched by the YED.

4. Chapter 4

Castiel lowered Sam gently do the ground and looked around.

"There is no one here, Sam. How will you be found?" Sam gestured with his good hand towards the outcrop of rocks about twenty feet to their right.

"There should be a spare radio and some food and water stashed over there. After the mission went FUBAR, they won't have wasted time stopping to grab it." He groaned as his control over the pain started to wane. "I just need to get over there and make a call, and before you know it, I'll be choppered out of here and onto the USS Kitty Hawk." Not wanting to waste time while his ability to hold back his agony faded, Sam began dragging himself painfully across the rocky ground towards the stash. Castiel rushed forward.

"I can collect the radio and supplies for you. You should not exhaust yourself further. Furthermore, dragging yourself across this terrain will create further injuries." Sam tried to grin up at the angel, but the burns on his face had created a tightness that threatened to crack open with the change of expression. I bet I don't look too pretty right now. He surmised.

"That's the point, Castiel. The explosion happened down there. He eyed the ruins of the building they'd tried to take on their mission. There's no way I would have been blown this far. Especially as the guys would've last seen me on the other side of the building. It has to look like I dragged myself up here after. It'll also help explain the delay in contact. That's why my leg needed breaking. Taking a couple of days to drag my sorry ass up here makes more sense that way. The angel blinked in surprise.

"Very well, Sam. I believe it would be best now for me to go and find Dean Winchester." He hesitated. "That is, unless you would prefer me to wait with you until you are collected?" Sam's heart was warmed by the concern. I wouldn't have come naturally to the angel.

"That's very kind of you, Castiel, but You're right; it's best if you go and find Dean before he does something stupid. Please keep him safe. And the revolver too. Neither one of them should be in the hands of evil, the world wouldn't survive it." Castiel nodded firmly and gently grasped Sam's unburnt shoulder.

"I will do as you ask. Be Safe, Sam Winchester." He said quietly, then paused and thought for a moment. "If you pray to me again, I'll come."

With that, he was gone. Before Sam had a chance to reply. With a slight shake of his head, Sam eyed the distance to the supply stash and groaned. His strength, both psychic and physical, was fading fast and he had a long crawl before he could rest. Grimly he put out his good arm and pulled himself a few inches forward, careful not to put too much weight on his broken hip. Of course, this made him roll onto his burned hip. He closed his eyes in despair. This was going to be horrendous.

In the end it took Sam nearly three hours to cross the twenty feet of rocky ground to the emergency stash and he had been less than halfway there when his ability to block any of the pain left him. His only consolation there was that he'd had the presence of mind to step deliberately out of his blank space rather than allow himself to just fall out of it. That would've just added a brain-splitting headache into the mix. Calling for an extraction team had been straightforward once the guy on the other end of the radio call had had a moment to get over his total shock; Sam had been right – they had assumed he was dead, but having the correct callsigns and responses had cut through the red tape, and so Sam was now half lying, half sitting in the sparse shade of the rocky outcrop, radio in his lap and the now empty water cannister in his good hand. He'd forced himself to eat the emergency rations left behind, despite the extra pain in his face from chewing, because he needed to rebuild his energy after the extreme strain he'd put his psychic abilities through. The rations we're nearly enough, but something was better than nothing and he knew that standard procedure once he was in the medical bay would be nil by mouth. It was a precaution taken in case emergency surgery was necessary. If he didn't eat before being picked up, he wouldn't get to for several more hours and that would mean his energy levels would crash – a much longer recovery. Sam needed to be out of hospital and en-route to Bobby's house to contact Dean as soon as possible; no one could keep Dean away from trouble for very long – not even an angel.

Very faintly in the distance, the distinctive sound of a helicopter became noticeable and Sam gave a relieved groan. It wouldn't be long now, and he'd be able to rest. His eyes were barely open a slit when a shadow fell over him, signalling that someone was there to help.

"Holy shit on a stick, man. Look at the state of him." Sam recognised Carson's voice over the still spinning helicopter blades. "Always knew he was a tough son of a bitch, but to survive that blast and then drag himself all the way up here? That's some next level shit. Shame about his face though." Carson's voice became subdued. "The ladies loved that pretty boy." Sam pulled forth enough energy to fold down all of his fingers except the middle one on his good hand and weakly wave it in Carson's general direction.

"Screw you, Carson. Bet I still look better than you." He mumbled to everyone's amazement.

"He's conscious?" Another voice spoke in amazement. "That's the strongest guy I've ever seen."

"Yeah and if he's going to continue that way, then you men need to get out of the way so that we can get the lieutenant stabilised and prepped to travel. He needs pain relief, too." No matter how Sam struggled to focus his eyes, he couldn't make out the medic, but he turned his head in the guy's direction anyway. "Lieutenant, there are a couple of packs of morphine syrettes in with these other supplies, but they're all unopened. Do you have an allergy or intolerance that's not noted on your file?"

"No." Sam muttered with the last of his strength. "Needed to stay alert." He added and then finally let himself slide sideways into unconsciousness.

S&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&D

When he woke up, Sam was lying on crisp white sheets in a bright, clean room. A drip was attached to his right arm, delivering fluids and painkillers, he assumed, and he was wired up to all manner of electrical equipment. The regular beeping was kind of annoying. He turned his head to look around and found that Carson was slumped in a chair next to his bed. He snorted in amusement, wishing he had a camera. There was a thin line of drool dangling from the corner of his mouth. Giggles would have never let him forget that. His amusement fled. Giggles had been a good guy and a superb marine, but there was no way he could've survived that explosion. Sam himself wouldn't have if he'd not been snatched.

He shifted in the bed a little, groaning at the white-hot agony in his broken hip and waking Carson from his doze.

"Hey, man." Sam murmured, trying not to wince as his facial burned flared with pain.

"Hey." Carson replied, subdued. "Look, Winchester, I'm just going to come straight out with it. I'm so sorry."

"Huh?" Sam replied intelligently.

"We should've searched better. We should've found you and brought you back. We never should've left you out there like that." He slammed his fist into his thigh. "I'm so sorry." Carson sat hanging his head, fighting back tears.

"Carson, there's no way you could've known that I was blown clear during the explosion. Believe me, it's a total miracle I survived." Sam told him truthfully. "I don't hold it against any of you. I mean it, man." Carson barked out a sour, sarcastic laugh.

"Never leave a man behind. That's supposed to be how it is. But that's exactly what we did, and I feel like shit for it." He scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "Especially as there were so many times that you were the one who helped run the extractions for us and for other squads when other men were down but not dead. Then when you needed us, we left you to rot."

Carson seemed beyond angry with himself and Sam was beginning to worry about him.

"Just listen to me, Carson." Sam said firmly, ignoring his pain and reaching out to tap him on the knee with his good hand. The move put weight on his broken hip and he gasped. "Those cases were all completely different to mine. In every case, the man down was visibly alive, or had at least disappeared without witness. I got blown up. You get that? Blown. Up. Not just shot, not just missing. A fucking building exploded into me. None of you had any reason to think for a second that was survivable. So, you need to quit this. Your guilt will get you killed if you let it fester. So, shake it off. I don't have any axe to grind with any of you, ok?" He stared at Carson hard, until the man nodded. Silence stretched out between them until Carson started to chuckle.

"So not even getting blown halfway to hell can stop your stubborn streak then, huh?" Sam started laughing too, but immediately broke off with an agonised gasp.

"Fuck, Carson. Don't make me laugh." He complained. They settled into a more companionable silence this time before Sam broke it. "Hey, when are they shipping me out?" He asked.

"ASAP as far as I know. I was listening in on the doc while he reported back to Winters. I figured you'd want the straight deal rather than the whitewash you'd get from him." They both rolled their eyes, the doc prided himself on his bedside manner, but he couldn't seem to get it through his head that military men don't want to hear a sanitised, 'positive thinking' diagnosis – they wanted straight talking and realism.

"Yeah, you're not wrong there." Sam agreed. "So, let's hear it then." Sam didn't need to fake a brave front; he knew that between Amanda and himself, none of his injuries bar the missing fingers would be permanent. Probably not even the burn scars given long enough. He momentarily wondered if it was possible to use psychic healing to regrow his fingers, then shook the thought off. Time enough to look into that later. He told himself.

"Well doc was telling Winters that your right hip is broken and will need a replacement." Carson told him with no preamble. They both knew that was a career-ending injury, and Sam appreciated Carson's well-meant attempt to get the worst of it out of the way. After all, the other man had no idea that Sam would be one hundred percent sound on that leg within a couple of months. When Sam didn't so much as blink at the news, Carson continued. "You've got burns ranging from first degree to full thickness down your left side; face, shoulder, arm, hip and thigh, and it looks like a piece of metal of some kind came at you so fast that it sliced clean through your third and fourth fingers on your left hand." Carson drew his list to a close and looked at Sam expectantly.

"Well shit. I guess I'll never play the piano again then." Sam deadpanned, surprising a bark of laughter from the other man. "Thanks for telling me, man."

The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor had both men turning to the door just as Major Winters walked in. Carson jumped to his feet and stood to attention, while Sam tried awkwardly to at least straighten up in his bed. Winters gave Sam an exasperated look, then turned and dismissed Carson who threw a wink and a grin over his shoulder at Sam as he left the room.

"Back among the living then, Winchester?" Winters asked, taking the seat Carson had recently vacated.

"I guess so, sir." Sam replied, trying to smile with just the right side of his face.

"Stop that. You're making my face hurt just watching you. Now, officially I'm here to debrief you before we ship you state-side for your surgery." Sam attempted to arrange his face in a confused expression – he wasn't supposed to know that he'd need a hip replacement yet. Winters rolled his eyes. "Don't even try that one, Winchester. You think I didn't know Carson would fill you in? Why do you think I talked to doc somewhere we could be overheard? You wouldn't appreciate that man pussyfooting his way around the facts any more than any of us."

"I appreciate the effort, Sir. Thank you." Winters waved him off.

"Anyway," he continued "officially I'm here for your debrief, but unofficially, I'm here to apologise for leaving you behind." Sam sighed. Would he have to go through this conversation over and over?

"Sir, I just got done reaming Carson for thinking that way, and I don't think I'm allowed to yell at you like I did him." Sam began, making Winters chuckle.

"Damn right you're not." He told Sam. "Don't worry, Winchester. Logically I know that I made the correct call in pulling out. Logically I know that I made the best call I could at the time. But it still turned out to be the wrong choice and I don't think I would be able to trust myself with any decision in the future if I didn't admit that fact and apologise for my mistake." Sam got it. His dad had been a big proponent of owning up to your mistakes and never repeating them. He just nodded at the Major.

"I can understand that, Sir. All I can say is that if it had been someone else in my place, and I'd still been running the mission, I'd have made the exact same call." Winters nodded gravely and looked down at his hands for a moment before shaking the subject off and moving on with the conversation.

"Your conduct in Black Fox Battalion has always been exemplary, Winchester. You've always completed your missions with precision and efficiency, and your loyalty to your squad has always been unshakable." Sam looked away, embarrassed by the praise. He'd never quite got used to praise from authority figures after having John's example as his starting point. Winters went on regardless. "But your conduct over the last few days has been truly beyond all expectations. You understand that you're going to be receiving a medical discharge?" Sam nodded. "I want you to know that Colonel O'Neill and I will both be putting in a commendation to be attached to your discharge." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Winters waved him down. "You'll be getting another purple heart to add to your collection anyway, but both the colonel and I are putting you forward for the Navy Cross." At Sam's wide-eyed expression, Winters grinned. "We would've liked to put you forward for the Medal of Honour, but given the top-secret nature of the mission, that's just not possible. So, the best we could do was a Navy Cross, and a final promotion. You'll be discharged as First Lieutenant." There was no room for argument in Winters' tone or expression, so Sam swallowed down his protests.

"I don't know what to say, Sir. Except thank you." Winters smiled.

"I'll be seriously offended if the last I ever hear of you is the moment you get shipped back stateside, Winchester. Seriously." He shifted in his chair. "Now, there's not much point debriefing you when you're only," he looked at his watch "five minutes from your next morphine dose. So, we'll table that for now. In the meantime, is there anything you need?" Sam nodded.

"Actually, sir yes there is. Did my last personal letters already go out?" Winters' face fell.

"I'm afraid they did, yes. We were so sure. Your family was notified officially too." Sam's stomach dropped.

"Then it's extremely urgent that I get immediate access to my emails, Sir. I have to get an email sent before someone does something really, really stupid when they hear I'm dead."

Winters was about to argue that Sam was in no shape to be sitting up or typing, but the panicked look on the face of a marine he knew to be impossible to panic had him calling out to a private stationed in the corridor for a laptop. Sam slumped back in relief. There was a chance he'd get a message to Bobby in time to head Dean off, and if not, at the very least, Castiel was watching him and could hopefully keep him at bay until Sam was there to fix this.

It was only a few minutes before the laptop arrived, and a nurse helped Sam into a semi-comfortable position, so he could type, then left the room, along with Winters. Sam wasted no time in opening his email account.

From: SeerWitch To: BeeSinger

May 26th, 2007

Bobby

SAM WINCHESTER IS NOT DEAD. SAM WINCHESTER IS NOT DEAD! I recognise that I just repeated myself, but some things are important enough to say twice.

Here's something else that's maybe more important: KEEP DEAN AWAY FROM CROSSROADS!

Yes, I know. He's an eejit. Don't doubt for a second that he'll do it. I've seen him do it. And then the whole world goes to shit. Not hyperbole. I mean that almost literally. So, KEEP DEAN AWAY FROM CROSSWORDS.

The third piece of important news is: The Yellow Eyed Demon is dead. Dead, not exorcized. Literally, hole in the forehead, flickering blue lightning, magic colt revolver, dead.

Use that information to its best advantage, Bobby. Maybe it'll stall Dean for a while too.

I'll be in contact again soon.

SeerWitch.

---

S&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&D

It took Sam three more weeks to finally get out of the military hospital. The doctors were very pleased with his recovery, but Sam knew he could heal a whole lot faster out of the hospital than he could in it. The watchful eyes of the doctors were more detrimental to his health than the infections and complications they were attempting to prevent.

The entirety of the first week, Sam had spent in a sterile environment – even the doctors and nurses changing their scrubs as they entered and left so as to avoid infection in his opens burns. The surgery to debride his burns had lasted more than four hours, and he'd had to very carefully affect minor repairs to his own hip so as to prevent them from doing a complete hip replacement. Luckily the doctors had just concluded there had been some mix up with the x-rays and not looked any closer.

He'd had a hell of a time talking the doctors out of beginning his skin grafts immediately too. In the end he'd convinced them that he needed time to recover mentally from his ordeal before he went through the skin graft process, and that he's return for future surgeries when he was ready. Three weeks of not only being poked and prodded, but of not being able to make contact with Castiel to make sure that everything was ok with Dean. To add insult to injury, Dean hadn't even been able to go and search for visions or use his abilities to lessen his own pain; the doctors at the hospital insisted on having him wired up to a heart rate monitor at all times, and the thing went haywire whenever he began focussing and entering his blank space.

He felt completely out of touch with everything and everyone important and he hated the feeling.

When he finally walked out of the military hospital, on crutches, he had a severe limp and raised, ugly red scars over every burnt area. Not how he wanted to look when he met his family again for the first time in years, but there wasn't time for him to affect much of an improvement.

Maybe I can get Amanda to come visit at Bobby's. We could do a bit of work on my injuries together.

But that was a problem for another time. For now, he needed to make contact with Castiel. He limped and crutched his way into the motel room he'd just rented near the hospital. He'd got a flight booked for the following day to Dakota, but he hadn't wanted to stay even one more day at the hospital. Dropping his duffle on the bed, Sam picked up the handful of take out menus by the phone and set about ordering himself a huge spread. He was going to get a lot of work done that evening – both with his healing and with his visions, so having plenty of food to hand and a safe place to sleep was essential.

After ordering a huge quantity of food to be delivered, Sam carefully lowered himself into the armchair in the room and closed his eyes.

"Castiel, Angel of Thursday, owner of a very efficient trench coat, and taker of everything literal, I pray that you hear me. I pray that you visi…" Sam didn't have to go any further, as with a rustle of feathers and a rush of air, Castiel appeared in the room.

"Sam. I am pleased to see you." Castiel said seriously.

"Thanks, Castiel. It's nice to see you too." Sam smiled. The scars on the left of his face twisted the expression and made it look a little grotesque. Sam knew it would, but he wasn't too upset by it. Some work with his healing ability would improve things.

"I am pleased to see you because it means that I can soon be relieved of my obligation to watch over your brother." Castiel grumbled. "The man is very irritating. He is almost always drunk. He mocks my clothing and my speech, and he refuses to call me by my proper name." Sam tried very, very hard not to laugh.

"What does he call you then?" Sam could guess, but then again, it depended on how much Castiel had annoyed Dean.

"He calls me Cas." The angel protested. "I am not at all fond of it." Sam couldn't control the chuckle this time.

"Yeah, Dean can be difficult sometimes." Sam agreed. "Has he been trying to get to a crossroads?" Castiel frowned and nodded.

"He has made several attempts. Robert Singer prevented two of his efforts and I have thwarted a few myself. He was angry and violent in his earliest efforts, but in the last few days he has become sly and secretive. I believe he is planning another attempt." Sam slapped the bed in irritation.

"Damnit, Dean." He growled. "This is really unhelpful." Castiel nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Ok, Castiel. I'm going to be there at Bobby's tomorrow. Is there any way that you can monitor Dean without him seeing you? If he thinks he's free of you, he might lose the edge of desperation and hesitate long enough for me to get there. If he does act, maybe you could just 'zap' him back to Bobby's place before he can get himself into trouble?" Sam asked. Castiel sighed.

"Very well, Sam. I will do as you ask again. Would you appreciate my presence at Robert Singer's home tomorrow when you meet your family?" He offered.

"That would be very helpful actually. Yes please. But there will be a lot of shouting and recriminations at first, so maybe it would be best if you waited for my prayer?"

"Agreed. Shall I return the weapon now?" Castiel asked, reaching inside his trench coat for the revolver.

"I can't take it on the flight to Dakota. If you don't mind keeping it for one more day, I can relieve you of both your obligations at the same time tomorrow?" Sam asked the angel politely. He figured that a little politeness might counteract Dean's ability to be a pain in the ass.

"Very well, Sam. I shall await your call tomorrow and watch over Dean tonight." Castiel nodded to Sam with something that looked almost like respect. Sam smiled in return.

"Thank you Castiel." Sam had barely finished speaking before the angel had once again disappeared.

Most of the rest of Sam's day was spent in his blank space, concentrating hard on improving his scars and his hip. By the time he was finished working, it was dark out, he was starving, and he was exhausted, but also, he was in much less pain, and a good look in the mirror showed that his facial scars at least had faded and softened, the first step needed before he could start re-growing new skin which would be better done with Amanda's help. He shifted far enough over on the bed to reach the huge spread of food and started gracelessly shovelling it into his mouth. The refuelling more important than the flavour right then. He ate until he felt like he would puke if he tried one more mouthful and then lay back and fell straight asleep, not waking until his alarm went off the following morning with just enough time for him to get a cab to the airport for check-in.

Sam couldn't remember being quite this nervous ever before. Not on his first day of Boot camp, Not even on his first mission. He sat in the back of a cab outside the gates of Bobby's place for nearly twenty minutes, ignoring the irritation of the driver; he'd paid the guy extra for the delay, so he was essentially getting paid for nothing. He could put up with nervous silence in return.

Finally taking a deep breath, Sam opened the door and pulled himself out of the cab, grabbing his duffle and his crutches. The cab drove off the second Sam closed the door and Sam crutched and limped his way into Bobby's yard. A large dog ran up to him barking and Sam stood still, allowing the ugly but well cared for mutt to sniff all around him and decide if he was a threat or not. Apparently, Sam qualified as not a threat, and the dog lost interest in him and trotted off towards the house.

Apparently alerted by the barking, a middle-aged man, scruffy and overweight and wearing a plaid shirt and a tatty old baseball cap came out of the house. Somehow, Bobby had barely changed over the years. Sam continued crutching his way towards the house, head down to watch his footing. He was wearing his service uniform, The khaki green material crisp and well cared for, with his new lieutenant's insignia and his medal ribbons attached. He was aware that it was probably overkill and childish too – a hark back to his 'fuck you, dad' phase – but he knew that Dean and his dad had received his last letters, and he felt like he needed some kind of barrier between them and him now that he knew that they knew.

"Can I help you, Son?" Bobby called out from the porch." Sam drew to a stop and looked up. He smiled, the scars on his face still pulling it off to one side a little, but he'd practiced in the mirror and he knew that it looked a lot better than before.

"Well I guess that depends, Bobby." Sam replied, "You maybe got a beer up there I could have?" Bobby froze, narrowing his eyes at Sam and giving him a proper look over.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that was Sammy Winchester standing in my yard," He said carefully "But I'm in two minds about whether or not that's possible. I'm getting very mixed reports about him being dead or alive."

Sam wasn't surprised by Bobby's wariness; hunters didn't live long if they weren't wary. He couldn't help the grin on his face as he took in Bobby and his house. Most of the good memories from his childhood feature these images.

"What do you want me to do, Bobby? I could walk across a devil's trap for you? Drink some holy water? I've already walked over your iron cattle grid and the rock salt boxes under it." Sam reeled off the protections and tests his dad and Bobby had drilled into him. "I could slice myself with a silver knife?" Bobby held up one hand.

"How about we start with a couple of questions only Sammy Winchester would know the answer to." He suggested.

"It's Sam. But sure, if you want. Although if I know the answer, a shapeshifter would too." Sam replied. After his first words, Bobby jerked a little bit straighter, but he didn't come any closer.

"What did you do to celebrate your thirteenth birthday?" Came Bobby's first question. Sam scoffed.

"The same thing that happened half the nights of my life. "Dean and I did a salt and burn out the back of an old farmhouse in Ohio. Dad wasn't there, again. He was hunting a black dog in a small town near Maine."

"What did I give you for you to give your dad one year?"

"An amulet. You said it would keep him safe. But I was mad at him, so I gave it to Dean instead. He loved it. He'd wear it all the time." Sam replied. Bobby grunted and gestured for Sam to come a little closer. He did as requested, noting the devils trap marked out in iron and then covered with dirt. He limped and crutched his way right through the centre and out the other side and looked up to give Bobby a cheeky grin. "I'd do the Hokey Pokey in and out of it for you if only my leg wasn't still fucked up."
"Mind your language, Sammy." Bobby warned him.

"It's Sam." Sam reminded him "And you never had any luck getting me to mind it when I was a kid, so I don't know why you'd think I'll mind it now." He could see Bobby fighting the urge to chuckle at him. Quick as a flash, Bobby threw a shiny object to Sam.

"Think fast." He called as it glinted in the air. Sam dropped his right crutch and caught the object one handed. He looked down to see what it was. A pure silver bar by the look of it. Sam held it in both hands and rubbed it between his palms before throwing it back to Bobby, then showing his unharmed hands to the older man. "I'll be damned. It's really you, Sammy?" Bobby said hopefully, beckoning Sam up the steps and offering him a beer.

"It's Sam, Bobby, for the last time. And yes, it's really me." He took a swig of the beer, letting a little drip onto his chin so Bobby could see it make real contact with his skin. "You know, You should really just offer people holy water shots. Watering down beer is just a crime." Bobby grabbed him and wrapped him up in a tight hug, a tremble in his hands.

"My god, Sam. It's so damn good to see you again." He told the younger man. "I should've known I could trust that email. She's always right." He added under his breath. Sam managed not to smirk, but it was close.

"It's good to see you too, Bobby. Seriously." He replied, returning the hug. "So, where are they?" he asked, looking over the older man's shoulder towards the house.

"Your daddy's sitting outside the spare room door, minding Dean and making sure he doesn't leave. That boy's been a complete eejit lately; determined to get himself in the worst kind of trouble." Sam admired the way Bobby managed to tell Sam the truth, while still maintaining Dean's privacy.

"Yeah, well he's a Winchester, Bobby. What do you expect?" Bobby laughed, finally letting go of Sam and leaning back against the wall.

"Look, Sam. I know my house ain't much, but I'm kind of attached to it. I've got a feeling that if your reunion happens inside, there won't be much left beyond the foundations, so I'm gonna go get Dean and your Daddy and have them come out here. It helps that I've got a handy dandy devils trap sitting out here, because you know that they're going to have you jumping through the same hoops that I just put you through. In fact…" Bobby broke off and laid out the silver bar and an iron knife which he pulled from his belt. "I'll bring out a shot of holy water with me this time too. It'll be quicker if we just get it all done before the pair of them get their crazy on." He looked at Sam seriously. "You know, they sent a heavily decorated officer type out here to notify Your Daddy and brother, wouldn't even tell me what it was about, only that it was an emergency that he talk to them. Poor guy had to wait nearly two days in town until they showed up here. Getting them to break off from their hunt was a real bear of a job too. I had to threaten John with telling our ammo dealer that he was working with the ATF to get them here." Bobby rolled his eyes. "Hooee, did your daddy come rolling in here with a bee in his bonnet. Roaring and swearing from the second he opened the car door he was. Of course, the second the officer type started speaking, he shut up faster than I've ever seen." Bobby trailed off, looking into the middle distance. "The look on his face when he heard the news. Dean dropped to his knees and started yelling and that damn near broke me, but the look on your daddy's face finished the job." Bobby was almost whispering by the end of that.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Bobby." Sam told him quietly. "I've got to say that Dean's reaction isn't much of a surprise, but after the way things finished up, I'm kind of surprised that my Dad gave a shit at all." Bobby grabbed Sam hard by the left shoulder, making him bite back a gasp as the pain shot through him.

"You never did understand that man, Sam. Now I'm not saying that's your fault – John Winchester is an enigma most of the time, and you were just a kid when you left – not old enough to see things from his perspective, and angry enough to not even want to try. But I'm gonna tell you this once, and you're gonna listen and listen well. That man, your daddy, he loves you. Just as much as he loves Dean. He ain't good at showing it, and he'd rather bluster and bitch than mention thing one about his feelings, but that don't mean he ain't got those feelings." Sam pulled back carefully, the pain in his shoulder and the pain in his heart from what Bobby had just said battling for position.

"Ok, Bobby. I hear what you're saying. It's in complete opposition to my experience with him, and I think that there's information you don't have, that supports my take on things over yours, but I won't go on the offensive with John. I'll let his behaviour guide the conversation. Will that suit?" Bobby sighed.

"Gad damned stubborn Winchesters. Each one as bad as the next." He muttered under his breath. "Fine, kid. I suppose that's the best I'm going to get out of you right now, and it's more than I'd probably get out of either of the other two. Just, I don't know, don't pull your old smart-ass crap and deliberately bait the man." Bobby eyed Sam's uniform, his eyes catching on the lieutenant bars and the medal ribbons. "Don't you think for a moment that I don't get the reasoning behind you turning up in full service uniform when fatigues would've been more usual and more comfortable." Sam looked away, embarrassed at being called out on his childishness.

"Yeah, well I never denied I had daddy issues." He said sullenly. "I told you I wouldn't just kick off when I see him. It's too late for me to get changed, even if I wanted too, and yeah, maybe I'm trying to rub his nose in my rank and success a little" Bobby scoffed. "Alright, a lot, but you've got to consider that every son wants to shout 'look at me! Look what I can do!' to his father when he succeeds." Sam said as calmly as he could. Bobby backed down a little.

"Yeah, Sam. I know. You've got no idea how many times I tried to get that through John's head when you were little. But the past in done, and you've got a chance to make changes here. All I'm asking is that you give it a go, even when the old man says exactly the wrong thing." They both gave a bark of laughter at that – it was pretty much a certainty that John would do just that."

"I'll try, Bobby. I'll try." Sam leaned back against the wall and jerked his chin towards the house. "Now how about we get this shit show started?"

Bobby walked inside and slowly climbed the stairs towards the guest room, torn between his eagerness to end the Winchesters' grieving and his dread at how badly things might go. When the Marine Corps officer had arrived, demanding that Bobby locate the Winchesters and bring them there, the old hunter had had a nasty feeling that he knew what was going on. Not that he'd had any idea before then that Sam had joined up, but what else could it have been about? He'd known that threatening John would bring him there in a terrible temper, but nothing else would've made John drop the hunt short of mentioning Sam, and the tiny sliver of hope he had left that this wasn't about Sam kept Bobby from bringing him up.

The absolute devastation that Bobby saw crashing across both Winchesters hit him very nearly as hard as his own grief for Sam's death, a double blow to his heart that had him struggling to breathe. He didn't ask either of the Winchesters what had been in the letters the officer had handed them, if Sam had wanted him to know he would've added Bobby's name to the envelopes. But he couldn't help but be curious as to what Sam could've said that would tear their already gaping wounds even wider, but there was no denying the fact that both men looked like salt had been poured into their open cuts after they'd read their letters.

The email from SeerWitch had given Bobby a tiny glimmer of new hope; the woman had never been wrong, had never once missed a vital detail in all the years she'd been contacting him. But without knowing who she was, without being able to provide any proof for John or Dean, Bobby had been unable to convince either of them that Sam was alive. Truth be told, he hadn't been convinced himself, so how was he supposed to make them believe it? SeerWitch had definitely called it on Dean though. After more than two days of silent zombie-like staring, Dean had suddenly thrown himself into a frenzy of activity, grabbing books from Bobby's collection and tearing through his supplies looking for something specific. Thank goodness he'd had the warning from SeerWitch, or Dean might've made it out of the junkyard before Bobby had worked out what he was up to. As it was, he'd had to resort to any number of tricks, traps and on occasion on brute force with John's help, to keep Dean from getting to a crossroads and damning himself to save his brother. The bitch of it was, Bobby wasn't completely convinced that John wasn't thinking about doing something along those lines himself. It was likely only having to constantly mind Dean that had prevented John from doing something stupid instead. Bobby sighed. One day these Winchesters would be the end of him.

The day after his first failed attempt, Dean had gotten fall down drunk and staggered off into the junkyard to rage alone. He'd come back in hours later, covered in his own vomit and rambling on about "some dick called Cas." From that point on, every time that Dean slipped Bobby and John's custody, before long he came back to the house blustering and bitching about this Cas, who apparently kept interfering in his plans. Bobby was baffled about who the guy was but was very grateful that he seemed to be on the same side.

He reached the top of the stairs and stood for a moment looking down at John who was slumped fast asleep in the narrow corridor against the guest room door. Even asleep, John's face was marked with grief. New lines creased his face, there were bags under his eyes, and he'd dropped weight. Hopefully, a lot of that would improve now. Bobby nudged John's knee with his foot, for too knowing to risk shaking the man awake by hand. That was a mistake he'd never be stupid enough to make. Hunters lived on the edge of danger at all times, and when woken unexpectedly, they woke swinging. If a knife or a gun was to hand, then they'd be in play at the same instant as the hunter's eyes opened.

Sure enough, the nudge to John's leg had him instantly awake, knife in hand. Bobby waited for a moment for John to register who had woken him, then spoke.

"Get Dean and then the both of you come outside. Bring your holy water." That last had John on full alert, jumping to his feet and banging on the door for Dean. "Calmly, John. Calmly. There's no emergency. I only want you to bring the water because it'll make things a lot easier in the long run." John stopped and looked at Bobby, confused but still wary. He called through the door.

"Dean. Get out here. Bobby needs us outside with some holy water. I've got no clue what the old man is up to, but he's caught my interest. How about you?" The slow steps coming towards the door told them that Dean was interested enough to come out and see what was going on. John turned and started back down the stairs, hearing the door open and close and then two sets of footsteps on the stairs behind him. Good. They were coming. Bobby's stomach roiled as his nervousness increased, however this went it was going to be an emotional rollercoaster. He grabbed a shot glass on his way through the living room.

Opening the door, Bobby saw that Sam was just where he'd left him – leaning against the house and his crutches and staring out into the junkyard. He didn't look across as Bobby walked out, just continued staring into the yard, the undamaged right side of his face on view. Bobby guessed he could understand that. The scarring to the other side of Sam's face was extensive and for the first time Bobby wondered what his other injuries were; he'd been so relieved to see the youngest Winchester alive that he'd not thought past that fact. He walked over and stood in front of Sam, shot glass in hand.

"So, come on then, old man. What's so important that we had to come…" Dean broke off, stopping in his tracks and staring wide-eyed. Beside him, John was similarly dumbstruck. The tableau only lasted for a moment. In an explosive flash of movement, Dean practically flew through the space between them and grabbed Sam by the neck. The speed he'd moved at throwing them both to off the porch and onto the ground in the yard, Dean on top of Sam. Sam yelled in pain.

"Ow get off me, you stupid dick." He shouted at Dean as the burned side of his body ground into the dirt and Dean's weight on his bad hip sending shooting pain through him "Seriously, dude. You didn't see the crutches? You're going to fuck up my leg even worse.!"

"As if I care about your pain, you bastard." For a second, Sam thought he'd made a terrible mistake, that Dean still hated him. Or maybe hated him anew after reading his letter. Then Dean continued speaking. "I couldn't give two shits about the pain of the thing that stole my brother's body. How dare you come here looking like him?" As he spoke, Dean punctuated his words with shoves to Sam's face, grating the already sensitive scar tissue against the rough ground. Sam gritted his teeth against the pain. "Is that actually his body you're wearing, or are you a shifter and that's a copy?" Dean growled. Before Sam could come up with a reply, a deafening bang sounded out and echoed around the junkers in the yard.

"Dean, you absolute eejit. Try using your head for something other than wearing your hair. You think I didn't run the checks on him the second I saw him?" Bobby bellowed, shotgun in hand and loading the next round. "That ain't no shifter. I had him handle pure silver and it didn't leave a mark." Dean didn't let up.

"Then it's a demon, wearing Sam's dead body for shits and giggles." Dean yelled back furiously. He started to reach for his gun, tucked in the back of his jeans. Sam wasn't willing to wat and see if Dean would shoot him. Quicker than either of the Winchesters or Bobby had ever seen him move when he was a kid, Sam twisted, hooked Dean's legs with one of his, a wrist with his good hand, and flipped the pair of them over. Dean didn't even have time to react before he was on his back, one of his arms stretched painfully, wrist bent close to breaking, and a booted foot pressing against his carotid.

Dean froze instantly, his only movement his breathing as he looked at his dad and Bobby in panic. He couldn't turn his head to see Sam – the boot on his neck prevented it. For some reason, although John looked horrified at the sight of Dean on the verge of either having his arm ripped off or his neck crushed, Bobby just looked impressed and vaguely amused. He didn't even train his shotgun on them. Instead he leaned it up against the door frame and folded his arms. In the ensuing silence Sam spoke.

"I've kind of gotta wonder if all the alcohol over the years has killed off too many brain cells." He grated out between gritted teeth, the combination of pain and anger turning his voice into a growl. "Because I don't remember you being quite this stupid, Dean. You think Bobby didn't have me march my ass right through that devil's trap before he'd say much more than hello? You think he didn't give me a beer with holy water in it, like he always thinks is so subtle? You think I even walked into the junkyard over the iron cattle grid and the salt boxes with a demon at the controls? Fuck's sake man grow a brain." Sam finished, adding just a half ounce more pressure to Dean's wrist just to make him yelp the way Dean always had to him when they were kids and then letting go. Dean rolled away fast, but Sam was suffering the effects of both Dean's attack and his own counter; his hip had locked up and was burning with pain. "Bobby? Can you bring my crutches and help me up, please?" He called out. "Pulling that move, even slowly like that was a really bad idea for my hip. The genius here has fucked it right up again. Oh, and bring the holy water, it might settle things down a little if they see me drink it."

Bobby took the holy water flask from John's loose grip and poured a shot, then picked up the fallen crutches and paused to grab the holy water, silver bar and his iron knife. He walked past a still shell-shocked John and down the steps towards Sam. As he passed Dean who was still sitting panting on the ground, now with his eyes fixed on Sam, Bobby kicked him gently in the butt.
"Eejit." He muttered and continued past. He helped Sam haul himself to his feet and passed him his crutches. Sam took them both in one hand and held the other, his left one with the missing fingers, out for Bobby to pass him the water. Turning to face first John and then Dean, Sam raised the glass in a toast, and then threw back the shot of water. When there was no reaction, both the other Winchesters relaxed a fraction, and then even more so when Bobby passed Sam the silver and the iron knife and nothing happened. Sam handed them back to Bobby and started crutch-limping his way back to the house, wincing and biting back his groans each time his weight was fully on his right leg. He adjusted his direction a little, making sure he went straight through the centre of the devil's trap on his way. As he passed out the other side, John dropped to his knees and Dean started struggling to his feet.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was strangled – barely there. Sam turned and looked at him.

"Yeah Dean. It's me." He replied with a pained smile. "You owe me for dry cleaning my uniform. Jerk."

S&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&D

Sam had only reached the bottom of the steps up to Bobby's porch when he found himself grabbed again. He immediately tensed, ready to fend off another attack, but was surprised to instead fin himself in a tight, but gentle embrace. The scent of his dad washed over him, gun oil, engine oil and leather with a hint of beer. Sam hadn't even realised he remembered it so well. He didn't know how to react. He couldn't remember ever having a hug from his dad before. Hesitantly, he lifted his arms and awkwardly returned the hug, landing a few gentle pats on John's shoulder. The moment his hand made contact, John burst out in a broken sob, his shoulders shaking as he fought to hold back his tears.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm so, so sorry. I tried so hard to keep you and your brother safe in crappy circumstances. I should never have taken you on the hunt with me, but once I had, I would lie awake at night, images of you or Dean or both of you ripped apart by a ghoul or killed by a werewolf, or bur-burning on the ceiling, and I just couldn't – I just couldn't let that happen, so I did the only thing I knew how to do." He paused and gave a broken humourless laugh, then carefully pulled back from Sam, making sure his youngest wasn't going to leave. When Sam didn't move, John slowly stepped backwards until he could sit on the steps. "When I got drafted, we were drilled so incredibly hard because it was the best way to make us safe once we were deployed. They were ruthless because the enemy would be, and the only chance we had for survival was to have it all come to us as second nature. It was the only way I knew, and after you left I realised what I'd done, I knew I was wrong and I tried to find you. I promise. We both did. And Bobby and Pastor Jim too. We followed every lead, not that there were many – I taught you too well." John broke off with another dry laugh. "But nothing ever panned out. You'd just disappeared off the face of the planet."

"I was in Ely." Sam mumbled nonsensically. He was reeling in shock. Every single scenario he'd pictured of meeting John again had featured an angry and verbally abusive father, but this? Nothing had ever come even close to this. The irony of finding himself suddenly wondering if John was possessed or maybe a shapeshifter wasn't lost on him.

"What? Ely? That small town in North Dakota?" John asked, staggered by the idea. Bobby had an amazed expression on his face.

"Minnesota." Both Dean and Sam corrected him together, bringing a tight smile from everyone. John asked again.

"Ely?" You were there the whole time?"

"It took me a little less than a week to get to Ely, after laying false trails and doubling back on myself here and there, then I stayed in Ely until I was able to sign up." Bobby looked at Sam with narrowed eyes and Sam shifted his weight a little. "Look, can we go inside? I really need to sit down." John jumped to his feet, holding out an arm to help and Bobby rushed forward doing the same, but neither one was quick enough. Dean was at Sam's side almost before he'd finished speaking, gently taking away his left crutch and sliding his arm around Sam's waist to take the weight. Sam grunted at his right hip took the brunt. "Wrong side, man." He grumbled. Dean swore and handed Sam back his crutch, rushing around to this other side.

"Sorry." He said quietly, and he gently took Sam's weight once more, helping his brother into the house. The two older men followed behind and they all filed into Bobby's house.

Dean helped Sam sit in one of Bobby's overstuffed, ratty old armchairs and, after getting a nod of permission from Sam, gently lifted his brother's leg up so his boot was supported on the coffee table. Bobby scowled but let it go for the moment. Dean didn't seem to know what to do with himself, hovering around Sam's chair, apparently looking for something else he could do to help him. Sam had never seen Dean unsure of himself before and he didn't like it. It didn't suit his older brother to be so tentative.

"Thanks, dude. I'm good now. We should probably all sit down – there's a hell of a lot to talk through." Dean nodded, relieved to have some direction. Once everyone had seated themselves an awkward silence stretched out. Sam recalled a similar silence in Cold Oak. He'd had to break that one by launching right into the issues, and he guessed he was going to have to do the same here. Huh. Maybe it's a family trait. Dad just did the same thing outside. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"As much as I love an awkward silence, this one could last for years if we don't get into things, and as I'm the one who left and changed my whole life, I guess it's down to me to do the talking." He gave a weak smile and began. "So, I guess I'll start right at the very beginning, even if I didn't know it was the beginning until later. When we were in Ely when I was around eight, I was in the library one day and this lady came up to talk to me. She was the librarian. She handed me her card and said she didn't know when or why, but that one day I'd need her help, and that when I did, I should come find her. I didn't know back then that psychics were real. I just thought she was a crazy lady. We left Ely the next day, and I never gave her another thought until the day I left, and then what she said jumped into my head. So, I bought bus tickets here and there to throw you off, and then hitched back and forth in as many directions as I could manage for a few days, and then decided I'd confused my tracks enough and I hitched a ride to Ely. The librarian, Mona was waiting for me when I climbed down out of the cab." Sam took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"You want a beer, Sam?" Bobby asked in the lull. Sam nodded. When Bobby asked the others they accepted too, and so Bobby fetched them all a drink and Sam began again.

"I should probably keep this chronological, well as much as I can anyway" He added wryly, no one other than him really understanding what he meant. "So, in the interests of doing that, and also to chase the big ass elephant out of the room, I need, and want to make something clear right now." Sam looked John right in the eye. "I'm gay. I first guessed I might be when I was about twelve. But the time I was fourteen, I was damn certain." Sam turned to John. "I want you to know that I heard what you said outside, and what I'm about to say isn't to deliberately hurt you, but I have to explain things from my perspective." He told him. John nodded, gritting his teeth and visibly bracing himself. "I had heard repeated homophobic slurs from you and sometimes from Dean too, parroting you I thought, for as long as I have any memories. I was surrounded by a daily diet of hate speech and derision which led me to one conclusion; I might as well tell you I was a wendigo as tell you I was gay."

John smothered a sob in his fist and stared down at the ground in shame. Sam heard Dean make a similar noise, but he couldn't bring himself to look over at him just then. Bobby remained silent, no trace of judgement in his face, no disgust, and no real surprise. Hmm. Interesting.

"I actually thought that you'd guessed, and that was why you taunted me like that. But I genuinely believed that if I told you outright, that the best-case scenario would be a severe beating and being turned out, and a worst-case scenario, you'd just shoot me and move on to the next hunt." His whole life, Sam had imagined angrily throwing that in John's face, but there was no satisfaction now. Not that he was looking for any. He'd seen, felt and heard the genuine remorse from John outside, and now understood that what he'd perceived wasn't actually how things really was. Now he was sitting and calmly explaining his childhood experience and his dad was sitting there, tears streaming down his face and sobs wracking his body. Sam felt bad opening up the old wounds.

"I understand now that I misunderstood a lot of things back then, and I and see that now you don't hate me for being gay, but I don't know if you being all gay friendly these days is a new development, or if you've always been fine with the gays and were just repeating the tired old, ignorant slurs you heard in Boot camp. Because trust me, I heard almost verbatim every slur you ever threw my way when I was in Boot camp." John wiped his face roughly with his hand.

"Sam, I was training you and Dean the same way I'd been trained, as much as I recognise what a mistake that was now. I just lifted my whole Boot camp experience and replayed the whole thing with you and Dean in my place. The homophobic stuff was all a part of that. I never knew or even guessed that you might be gay until I read your last letter when we were notified. If I'd known I wouldn't have let any of that crap leave my mouth and I need to you to know that I never never would've turned you out or laid hands on you. I promise you that." John vowed in a broken voice. He was clearly devastated that the ham-fisted way he'd brought up his sons had led to one of them leaving in genuine fear for his life, and the other one… John looked over to Dean who gave a tiny shake of his head. Well apparently, that was going to have to wait for later.

"Ok, Dad. I hear you. It's going to take a lot of sorting through, but I believe what you're saying." Sam told his father. John looked so pathetically grateful for even the partial forgiveness that Sam had to look away. He cleared his throat and took a long swig of his beer.

"So that's the elephant shuffled out of the way… where was I? Oh yeah, Mona met me in Ely. She's a part of a group called The Assembly." The others all gave a start of recognition. Sam pretended not to notice. "The Assembly is a group of psychics, witches, healers, finders and even hackers who work together to do good acts, to help either individuals or groups. Their two precogs – one much stronger than the other – had seen that I would come to them for help and that they had to help. That it had to be them specifically that helped, and that if they didn't, I, they and everyone else would suffer for it. So, Mona was there when I arrived, they took me in and they helped keep me hidden. From everyone who might be looking for me. And…" Sam paused for a steadying breath "they helped me train my own abilities." He waited for the inevitable questions.

"Abilities?" Dean asked, confused.

"Abilities?" John asked, confused and more than a little wary, but not hostile.

"Abilities? Plural?" Bobby asked, drawing everyone's eyes in surprise.

"Did you know I had a gift, Bobby?" Sam asked.

"I always suspected you had a little something else, Sam. But I asked someone I trusted about abilities in children and I was told that gifts only awaken in adults, so I convinced myself I must've been wrong."

"Ordinarily, your contact would be correct, Bobby." Sam told him "But my gifts were given a kick-start when I was very young." Sam met John's eyes again. "Exactly six months old to be precise." The horrified expression on John's face confirmed Sam's theory that John had known what the demon Azazel had done to him. "You did know then." He said to his dad coldly, not a question.

"I knew." John agreed. "A woman called Missouri, a psychic, she told me that she could feel a darkness in you when you were still a baby. She searched or scryed, or something and saw in her mind the yellow eyed demon dripping blood in your mouth. I was so angry with her for saying you had a darkness in you that I didn't speak to her again for years. I never asked for a second opinion. It was too dangerous, whether true or not. Hunters don't stop and ask, they kill and burn and move on. The fewer people that knew, you safer you were, and I was never going to let the demon bastard get his claws into you so whatever his plans were, it was irrelevant."

John's explanation burned away Sam's anger about his dad having known. Once again, however misguided, he'd been acting to protect Sam.

"And the thought that I might have demon powers never made you wary of me?" Sam asked, actually more curious than angry now.

"I was worried about what having demon powers would do to you. Not what you would do with the powers." John explained. "Despite all the fuck-ups I've made in your upbringing, despite everything you've seen in the world, I never knew anyone as good as you, Sam. So, no, I never worried that you would turn evil, if that's what you're asking. But I worried that you would be so afraid of turning evil that you'd do something drastic about it." John fixed Sam with a stern expression – the first glimpse of the dad he remembered, but Sam was actually warmed by it. He gave his dad a gentle smile.

"Thank you." He said simply. "As it happens, the question is moot for more than one reason. First and foremost because it's not possible for a power to be evil. The gift is neutral – only as good or bad as the person using it. Psychics are born, not made. All the demon did was unlock what was already there. Far too early and against my will, but by doing so, he made it possible for me to begin training, developing and strengthening my gifts from the early age of fifteen. That was a bad plan. For him."

Sam raised his hand, holding off the sudden burst of questions that last statement had sparked. "I'll get back to that, I promise, but I can't get out of order or we'll never get done here. So, to cut to the chase about Ely and the Assembly, They told me they'd found it real hard to see me because I'd built a block, a kind of mental shield around myself and my family for protection. They helped me learn about my gifts, train them, strengthen them and expand them. Just as importantly, they helped me clear the demon blood from my system. It took years and years of work, and several dozen tattoos – we used UV ink – but eventually we had it all corralled in the last two fingers in my left hand. Sam waved his mangled hand at them and faked an astonished look at it. He gave a sarcastic fake gasp.

"Oh my god, would you look at that? Those fingers are gone! I must have lost the last traces of demon blood in the explosion!" Dean was the first one to bust out laughing, but before long they were all laughing fit to burst. It lifted the tension from the room quite nicely.

"Sammy Winchester, now available in demon blood free." Dean chuckled, setting Sam back off again. It was good to see a little of Dean's usual personality coming through.

Once they'd all settled down, Sam picked up the story again. He explained about how he joined the Marine Corps mainly at first because he wanted to prove John wrong – that a gay man in general and Sam in particular could make it – but then after that because he'd found a good place for himself. He gave a general overview of Black Fox Battalion without breaking too many rules, and then he began to explain about his last mission.

"There are a lot of details that I just can't share," he apologised "but I'll tell you what I can, and a little bit of what I shouldn't. We were in Yemen, our mission was going perfectly, then I had a nudge from my precog gift and I knew it was all about to get FUBAR. There was an explosion, one of my guys was killed and I was fractions of a second from getting blown up myself and then suddenly I wasn't." There were a lot of very confused expressions. Sam continued. "I woke up in Cold Oak. Weapon less and without supplies, and in the company of four other people who had also been zapped there without them knowing how or why. They'd all been dosed with demon blood too, and they all had gifts. Super-strength, future visions, that sort of thing. One of them died pretty soon, so I organised us all into working together. It didn't matter. We got a visit from a certain demon in our dreams during the night. One with a sarcastic nature and yellow eyes."

Once again, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

"What did the bastard do?" John ground out.

"Right then? He talked. A lot. He was enjoying himself, showing off. You know how the bad guys enjoy a good monologue." The others all nodded in understanding. "He had a plan. To pit us against each other until only one was left. He wanted a commander for his demon army he was planning to raise. I tried to keep us all as one cohesive unit, but fear and paranoia took their toll, and in the early hours of the morning it turned into a total shit show. One of them hit another in the head with an iron bar, we all thought she'd killed him. Then the other guy killed her and attacked me. I tried to talk him down but failed. He tried to kill me, I killed him." Sam reported all of this in the driest of tones, keeping himself emotionally distanced from the events.

"Then, the demon showed up again. This time in the flesh. He did a bit more monologing and told me he was going to use me to raise and command his demon army. He…" Sam broke off with a sudden realisation. At the time, he'd wished that his dad and Dean could be there at the final victory over the demon. He'd even had Stef film the burning of Bobo's body. Just so he could send the clip to Bobby, so the Winchesters could see it. It had suddenly occurred to Sam that with his retrocog projection they could do just that – see the events as they had occurred.

"Bobby – could you grab five large church candles from your storeroom for me?" He asked. Bobby nodded and went to get them without wasting time asking why. Dean wasn't so patient.

"What do you need them for, Sammy? Got a sudden urge to pray?" He teased. Sam snorted in amusement. If only he knew. He thought to himself. Actually, very soon he will.

"One of my gifts is called retrocognition. I can look backwards in time and see visions of events. Retrocog can be combined with projection, so once I get these candles lit," He paused and lit each candle that Bobby had brought over. "I can project an image into the flames. I can show you exactly what happened. You'll be able to see, hear, and smell the whole event."

Bobby looked fascinated, Dean looked a little wary but mostly impressed and John looked… Holy shit! He looks proud! Sam realised. He'd never seen his dad look proud of him before. It was weird but a good feeling. Sam leaned forward in his chair and stared into the flames. His focus came easily, and the candles flared brightly, flattening and conjoining into a single flat sheet. Sam found his blankness and filtered back to find the right moment. It only took seconds for the image to form. The others all crowded around the candles and watched as the demon appeared. John and Dean tensed and swore under their breaths but kept watching. They witnessed Sam sarcastically baiting the demon, calling him Bobo, which cracked Dean up and had Bobby grinning. John stared avidly as the demon handed Sam the revolver and explained its importance.

"The Colt!" he breathed reverently. Bobby had told him that the email which had claimed the demon was dead, but John had refused to believe it was possible. But there was the Colt. The gun that was rumoured to be able to kill anything. Suddenly hope began to bloom in him. Was he about to see his wife's killer die? He couldn't tear his eyes away from the image Sam was showing them. The look of shock and fear as his power wouldn't work on Sam was food for John's soul, and the sight of the smoking hole in the demon and the blue lightning crackling around and through him was one of the most wonderful things he'd ever seen. It was over. His wife's death was finally avenged. His eyes filled with tears and he ignored them as they ran down his face. As the image faded away, John looked over to Dean and saw tears flowing down his face too.

It was finally done.

S&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&DS&D

By mutual decision, they took a break. John stood and gripped Sam's good shoulder in a single tight squeeze.

"Thank you." He said simply and quietly. Then he placed his hand on Dean's head, a silent loving touch, and walked outside to sit alone on the steps.

Bobby sat staring into the middle distance for a few minutes and then stood and grabbed his truck keys.

"I'm going to go on a grocery run." He told the brothers. From what I know about using gifts, Sam's going to need to eat like a bear prepping for hibernation after his little home movie show. I'm guessing he's also going to need to do some healing work after your display of genius earlier too." Bobby gave Dean a hard look. "So, keep things quiet while I'm out, you hear?" Dean looked ashamed of himself and Sam didn't want a return of the uncertainty from earlier; it made him edgy when Dean wasn't Dean.

"We'll be fine, Bobby. You mind if I use your phone though? I need to get hold of a couple of people in The Assembly, and using telepathy burns too much energy over distance." Bobby blinked at Sam's casual admittance of another gift, but otherwise mad no fuss.

"That's fine, Sam. You can invite them to stay for a few days if they need to. I can clear out another couple of rooms for them."

"Thanks, Bobby, I'll let them know they're welcome." Sam replied with a tired but grateful smile.

"Dean, you should fix your brother something to eat from what's left in the kitchen. He's looking a little drained." Bobby walked out the side door to his truck, leaving Sam and Dean sitting facing each other across the table. He wasn't wrong – Sam was feeling a little drained. Nothing too bad, but some food would definitely help.

"What do you want to eat then, Sammy?" Dean asked, clearly feeling a little awkward. Sam considered what Bobby would likely have in his kitchen on a day when a grocery run was needed. Nothing else about Bobby seemed to have changed, so Sam figured his kitchen contents were probably just like they used to be.

"You think he's got the stuff for hotdogaroni?" Sam asked with a little grin. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Seriously dude? Hasn't your diet matured at all as you've aged?" Dean groaned. Sam decided to see if the puppy dog eyes and whiney voice still worked on Dean like they used to.

"Pleeeease, Dee?" He asked, his eyes wide and unblinking. It had a result. Just not the one Sam had expected. Dean's eye filled with tears and then without warning, he just crumpled. Great heaving sobs escaped him, and he collapsed forward over his knees in his chair. Alarmed, Sam struggled to his feet and hobble-hopped over to his brother, sliding down to sit on the arm of the seat, but unsure if touching was ok or not.

It didn't appear that Dean was angry with Sam over the confession in his letter, or that he was disgusted with him, or anything else like that actually. But Sam would be crazy not to expect some kind of kick back from what he'd revealed. Maybe it was just delayed due to the shock of the day's events.

In the meantime, Sam had no idea what the right thing was to do. He tentatively put his hand on Dean's shoulder, half expecting him to pull away in disgust. He didn't. Dean threw himself into Sam's arms, burying his head into the material of Sam's service uniform and clinging onto his back with clenched fists. His strangled sobs were muffled a little against Sam's chest, but still they were heart breaking to hear. Sam's own eyes filled, and his shoulders started to shake with his own supressed sobs. He couldn't hold them back. For the first time in years, his emotions got away from him and soon both brothers were tangled together in a broken, snotty ball of tears.

They stayed wrapped in their tight embrace long after the flood of tears stopped. Until the silence once again became awkward. Finally, Sam pulled away, scrubbing at his face. Dean cleared his throat.

"Sorry man, I think your uniform's a total write off now. If I didn't owe your dry cleaning before, I certainly do now." Sam snorted.

"Doesn't matter." He fixed Dean with a serious expression. "What was all that about, Dean?" His brother squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"I.. Just… Well…" He was at a complete loss of words. Sam wasn't about to let him off the hook though. Dean, or at least the Dean Sam remembered, was the king of avoidance when it came to emotional conversations. If he could, he'd shut this down and Sam would never get to the bottom of it.

"you just well what, Dean? Clearly something major just hit you. Is it me? Are you not comfortable around me now? Cos if you're uncomfortable being alone with me, I can make sure to avoid it when possible." Sam knew that wasn't what had kicked off Dean's breakdown – if it had been he wouldn't have allowed Sam so close to him. It could well come up once the relief of Sam being alive wore off, in fact Sam was certain that's exactly what would happen before too much longer. Sometimes though the best way to make someone talk about something they didn't want to discuss was to put words in their mouth and then sit back and let them correct you.

"NO!" Dean burst out. "No, that's not it, man. It was just… When I first saw you, I only saw the un-scarred side of your face, and I was so angry that I could clearly see the kid I knew in the face in front of me – a face that I thought was stolen – that I just went off on you." He grimaced apologetically. "Then once you let me up from that submission hold – and that's the first time you ever got me in a hold you know – I got a look at both sides of your face, and suddenly the Sammy I'd recognised kind of blurred and I couldn't see him in you anymore. Maybe a part of it was because of the way you fought. It's so different from when you were a kid, but it was also to do with your facial expressions." Dean grimaced. "I'm not explaining this right. It's not that the burns themselves upset me, apart from the fact that you got hurt, it's more that they were keeping me from seeing the Sammy I knew. But then when you did that stupid fucking puppy eyes thing, just, all of a sudden, I could see him, see you and it was like, finally I could believe it. I could believe you were alive." Dean blinked back more tears.

"You've got no idea how bad it was, Sammy. Thinking you were dead. I just felt like half of myself was suddenly missing. I was kind of hollowed out and I couldn't breathe right or make anything matter. It was so much worse than when you left, and that was the worst thing I'd ever felt before."

Sam's brow furrowed. Why on earth would Dean have felt bad when Sam left? Sam could still see the hate and disgust on Dean's face when he'd gone berserk on that tree. He should have been relieved when Sam left. He was about to ask what Dean was talking about, when Dean continued.

"I… I nearly did something drastic. I tried to several times, but Bobby or this weirdo called Cas always got in the way." Dean broke off, realising that what he'd just said could be misconstrued. "I don't mean I was going to top myself or anything. I was just going to find a crossroads demon and do a deal to get you back." Sam rolled his eyes at how reasonable Dean was trying to make his actions sound.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you were trying to do, Jerk. You forget that I've got mystical powers these days. That's why I discharged myself from the hospital so early. I needed to get here before you finally managed to pull off your plan." Sam resisted the urge to slap some sense into his brother. I'll do it later. He promised himself There are more important issues right now. Dean gave a sharp bark of laughter at Sam's description of his gifts.

"That's definitely going to take some getting used to. You got any other cool stuff you can do? Jump from one place to another? Move things with your mind? Start fires? Oh! That would be so cool! I'd love to be able to do that! No more fucking around with matches in the wind and rain on a salt and burn. Just, POOF, and the bones are burning." Sam laughed at Dean's exuberance and waved him down.

"Yeah I can do some other stuff." He admitted. "Not fires." He said quickly, heading off Dean's next bout of excitement. "But I do have several gifts. We can get into all that later though, when dad and Bobby are ready to start talking again. I don't want to have to repeat it all and there are far more important things that we all need to discuss together anyway." He moved slowly and carefully with a lot of wincing back to his armchair and lowered himself down with a groan. "While we've got a bit of time without the others, there's something else you and I need to talk about." Dean shifted awkwardly and nervously.

"I don't think there's anything we need to go over just between the two of us." He said edgily.

"Well sorry, but I think we do." Sam replied firmly. "The day I left. I was running out in front of you like I always did, remember?" Dean gave a reluctant nod. "But when I waited for you to catch up you didn't come. So, I came looking for you." Dean's wild-eyed expression told Sam that he remembered the occasion all too well, but he clamped his lips together, refusing to respond. Sam pressed on. "When I found you, you were going crazy and taking it out on a tree. You must've broken a few bones in your hands, you were punching so hard." Sam paused, looking Dean directly in the eye. "And with every punch, you were shouting out some homophobic slur. Every punch came along with one of dad's old favourites and the look on your face, Dean." Sam rushed on. "I've never seen anyone filled with so much hate and disgust, and definitely never you. But that morning, you were filled with it and it all came rushing out of you. And that's when I knew." Dean froze like a rabbit in the headlights. "That's when I knew that you'd worked out I was gay. And that you hated me for it." Sam finished quietly, looking down at his hands. "You'd been pulling away from me for a while by then, and once I realised you knew I was gay, I figured out why you'd been avoiding me. I just could never be sure if you knew all of it. If you knew how I felt about you." Sam cleared his throat which had become tight with threatening tears. He couldn't look up from his hands. "But either way, it didn't matter. Whichever direction I looked I could only see misery and disaster; if you knew how I felt about you then your hate and disgust was only natural, and I couldn't stay and force you to be around me. If you only knew about me being gay and that was the source of the hate and disgust, then I couldn't stay and have the most important person in my world make me feel that way about myself. If you told dad I was gay I believed he'd either beat the shit out of me and kick me out or kill me outright. So, I couldn't see any other way. I had to leave. I really didn't think you or dad would bother looking for me. I figured you'd be relieved I was gone." He was interrupted by Dean's hand grabbing both of his where they rested in his lap and when he looked up Dean was kneeling at his feet, crying again and shaking his head repeatedly.

"Sammy." He croaked "Sammy you've got it all so wrong. I'm so sorry that that's what you thought all these years. I'm so, so sorry. No one should ever have to feel like you must've felt. But here's the thing, Sammy. What you saw? It wasn't me hating or being disgusted with you." Dean paused and took a deep breath. "I was feeling that way about myself."

Sam looked up at his brother in confusion and shock. What the… What? Did he just say…? He could feel his face scrunching up as he tried to understand.

"You're saying that you're gay?" He asked incredulously. "But, but there's no way you were faking with all those girls. I know how hard it is to pretend to be interested in girls when they do nothing for you at all; I spent my entire military career fake flirting and hiding my real attraction. And that's not what you were doing with all those girls back then. You were definitely into them."

"You know there's not just gay and straight, right? The Kinsey scale is called a scale for a reason. I'm bi, dude. I play for both teams." Dean sat back on his heels, scrubbing the fresh tears away. "I was working out that I wasn't exactly straight, and hating myself for it while you, baby brother, had already worked out your own sexuality, and accepted it and yourself." He laughed. "Always the precocious over achiever, Sammy. I'd heard the same shit from dad growing up that you did, and instead of realising it was wrong, I figured that I was wrong, and I couldn't seem to fix it. No matter how many girls I picked up, every so often there would be some guy that would turn my head and it freaked me out so bad." He shook his head at his younger self and sighed, his expression growing determined and he squared his jaw and continued. "And then I started to realise that I had other feelings too. That I could never ever give in to. I kept giving in to my attraction to guys and I was terrified by the thought that that meant I'd give in to the other feelings too. The fear made me angry and bitter, but I just tried to use that to help me not give in to those feelings." He swallowed. "Feelings for you."

It was Sam's turn to freeze like the proverbial rabbit. Everything he thought had been wrong. His dad hadn't been as homophobic as he'd thought, Dean wasn't as straight as he'd thought, hadn't hated him like he'd thought, he wasn't alone in having feelings for his brother like he'd thought. Could it have all been different if I'd stayed? He wondered. If I'd come out to Dean? If I'd confessed how I felt about him? His brain was whirring. Then he remembered the future track he'd been on before he left and realised that everything might very well have gone a lot worse if he'd stayed. There was no point second guessing his actions at this point. He couldn't go back and change things. All he could do was move forward and try to make it different in the future. He was good at that.

Snapping himself out of his frozen stupor, Sam reached forward and gently held Dean's face between his palms.

"You read my letter. I know you did, so you know that my feelings for you have never changed, not even a little. So, I ned to know, Dean. What about you? Have yours changed over the years?" Dean carefully pulled his face from Sam's hands and looked down.

"It doesn't matter, Sammy. I was wrong to try and fight against being bi, but I wasn't wrong to fight against my feelings for you. Back then you were just a kid, so it would've been wrong whoever you were, but now, even though you're not a kid any more, you're still my brother. It's still wrong. However, I feel, it's irrelevant. It shouldn't and can't happen." Dean stood and walked towards the kitchen. Talking with his back firmly to his brother. "You shouldn't be wasting your feelings on me anyway, Sammy. I've got nothing worthwhile to offer you, and I'm never going to stop hunting. We both know you always hated the hunt and at least a tiny part of you leaving had to be about getting away from that as well as getting away from dad and me. So even if we took away the fact that we're brothers, I'd still be no good for you. You've got a brilliant military record behind you and brains and skills up to here." Dean lifted his hand above his head. "You could choose pretty much any career and be successful in it. Me? I'm going to be a broke homeless hunter forever until some monster finally takes me down. No good for you at all." With that, Dean walked into the kitchen, conversation clearly over as far as he was concerned.

Sam sat in shock for a few minutes, vaguely registering the sounds of Dean cooking in the kitchen. He narrowed his eyes. Damn you, Dean! He growled to himself. So, what you meant was, yes, you still feel the same way about me that you used to, but rather than act on it, you're going to wallow in this self-sacrificing bullshit. He disregarded the part about a relationship between them being wrong; neither of them had ever had much use for laws or rules that didn't relate to someone hurting someone else. No one would be hurt by Sam and Dean being together. Dean had clearly gotten over his internalised homophobia, so there would be no issues regarding the gay aspect, and Dean had never believed in God like Sam had, so it wasn't a Christian morals thing. Hell, it's not like one of them could get knocked up either, so it wasn't even a genetic thing. No. Dean was throwing himself on his own sword in a mistaken attempt to save Sam from the terrible fate of ending up on the road hunting with a man Dean considered not worthy of Sam.

Sam squared his shoulders. If Dean could've seen his expression right then he'd have been very nervous indeed. A stubborn Sam was a force to be reckoned with, and right then Sam was feeling very, very stubborn.