Bobby's house was big, dusty and smelled like a cross between a library and a garage. John helped Dean towards a door off to the left of the main room. Mary walked behind them with Sam pulled close. Dean wasn't entirely comfortable with the attention. The help with the walking was nice and all, but he could do without all the concerned frowns being sent his way. He tensed as his knee knocked the table.

"Take it easy, son." John said. "Careful."

"I'm fine." Dean said.

Bobby watched them, his face anything but happy. And bullshit John and Mary were friends with him. The man looked like he would've run them off with a shotgun if it hadn't been for Sammy's puppy-dog eyes.

"I can do the rest by myself." Dean said when John moved to follow him inside Bobby's bathroom. He swatted him away. "Seriously. I can handle it from here." John stepped back but didn't leave. Mary moved so she was beside the man.

Dean rolled his eyes. He closed and locked the door. The only thing worse than them listening at the door, would be them bursting inside to check on him. His trouble was with the walking, not the peeing.

"Dammit." He whispered as he moved. His head hurt and his leg hurt like a sonuvabitch. The sixteen hour car ride hadn't helped. He steadied his hand on the sink and pulled down his pants so he could look at the wound without John and Mary hovering over him.

The skin around the tape was raised and red. He lifted up the bandages, scrunching his face at the pus around the wound. Dean sighed. Shit. It looked a lot worse than it had yesterday. He glanced down again.

"That's not good." He mumbled, noticing thin red lines emanating from the damaged tissue. There was no doubt it was infected. It shouldn't surprise him. Those harpy things had been nasty. No telling where the freak's talons had been before they found his leg. It sucked big time, though. John and Mary might react badly when they saw how much worse it looked. He finished his business and opened the door.

They were waiting. All of them were waiting. John and Mary stood on either side of the door where he'd left them. Sam was again tucked under Mary's arm, looking uncomfortable, and watching their parents. Dean knew his little brother was deducting points for the hovering. He put his hand against the door frame and took a small step. Problem was Sam would have deducted points for them not caring enough if they'd been camped out somewhere other than the door to the bathroom. It pissed Dean off. Sam could try a little harder to make this work. He understood his brother's reservations, he did, but sometimes Sam was a picky little bitch, and Dean was in no mood to deal with his little brother's trust issues right now.

Bobby peered at him from under a truckers cap by the far wall. "Do I need to get the med kit?" He looked Dean over again and shook his head. "The boy don't look too good."

John's gaze fell to Dean's leg. "How's your leg, Dean?" He said, reaching for him.

Dean shifted away. They should be worrying about dealing with the monsters not worrying about him and his stupid leg. His face heated. It wasn't that big of deal. He frowned down at his thigh. He should probably tell them it was infected though. But it wasn't that bad yet.

"It's fine. Really." He said. He managed to walk over to a large, worn couch and plop down. "The long-ass car ride cramped me up." There was no way he could deal with them pushing at him and prodding at him right now. He needed a few minutes. If they decided to check it, they'd find out. Otherwise, Dean would take care of it. Sam slinked over and sat beside him. Sam didn't say anything, but he crossed his arms and glared at the others.

"You tell me if it gets worse, Dean." John said.

Dean huffed. "Yeah. Fine." He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "Whatever."

"The three of us should talk in the kitchen. Let the boys rest for a minute." Bobby's gruff voice suggested. "I'll make some sandwiches. How's ham do you?"

"Ham's alright." Sam said.

Everyone was silent. Dean felt their eyes on him. He kept looking up. There was an odd-shaped water stain on Bobby's ceiling. If he squinted right; it looked like a boob.

"Um…" Sam said. The words came out slow and concerned. "Dean likes ham too."

"Okay." Mary said. "Okay then. You two wait in here. We'll be in the next room. Call us if you need anything, okay?" Her voice was thick with concern. "Anything at all."

Dean huffed. What he needed was a minute to figure out what to do about his throbbing, harpy infected leg. Until then, they could all kiss his ass.

"Give them a moment, John." He heard Mary softly say as they moved to the next room.

Sam shifted on the seat. After two minutes he spoke. "Dean?"

Dean closed his eyes. He felt like shit. His headache was getting worse. And he was going to ignore Sam until he got the idea and shut the hell up.

"Dean." Sam said harsher. "Talk to me, jerk." He fidgeted on the seat. "Dean?" He was getting upset. Stupid little brother couldn't even give Dean five minutes to figure out how to keep his damn leg from falling off from gangrene or some shit like that.

"What?" He hissed, leveling Sam with a hard expression.

"Are you alright?" He chewed on his lip. "Is your leg really okay?"

Dean sighed. "It's infected."

"You sure?"

"Yeah Sammy." Dean said. The kid would keep asking him questions all day if he didn't answer. Dean raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure the pus and red lines and hot skin means it's infected. So can you let me rest for a minute and figure out what to do about it?"

"You're a pain in the ass when you're sick." Sam's eyes wandered towards the kitchen. "Maybe you really should tell them." He said but he didn't sound like he liked the idea.

"Later."

"Dean?" Sam pulled his face into a concerned frown. "You're the one that said to give them a chance." He said with an accusing undertone. "They need to know how bad you're feeling." Sam had committed to the idea. He probably wanted to observe their reactions.

Dean was in no mood for those games. "No."

"Why not?"

Dean released a huff of exasperated air. "Because I said so, alright, Sam." He scooted away and waited. That was the complete wrong thing to say to Sam. Sam always looked for reasons even if there were none. His smart brain probably shifted into overdrive the moment the words left Dean's mouth.

Sam stood up. He crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. "If you don't tell them, I will."

"Like hell you will." Dean pulled to his feet, wincing as he put weight on the lame leg. "I mean it, Sam. I will kick your ass."

"No. You're the one who wanted to go with them!" He stepped right into Dean's space. "You want me to trust them and like them and then you won't do the same." He pointed at Dean. "You're a hypocrite."

"Well you're a bitch."

Sam plopped back down on the couch pouting. "You always do this when you're hurt." He sighed a long exaggerated sigh. "They seem okay, I guess. So tell them, Dean."

"Tell us what?" John walked in carrying food.

Dean shrugged. "Nothing that can't wait." He eased back down beside Sam who looked beyond pissed off. Dean chuckled. He couldn't help it. A little pissed off Sammy was a hilarious sight. Eyes slanted. Cheeks puffed up. Stupid hair falling in his little red face.

"It's not funny." Sam mumbled.

"Okay." John sat the sandwiches on the side table. "I need to ask you a few questions."

More questions? Dean huffed and leaned back to stare at the ceiling boob again.

"Dean." John's voice was no nonsense. "This is important. Pay attention."

Dean felt Sam tense beside him. Shit. He didn't mind the kid being mad at him but he didn't want him mad at John. Sam seemed to warming up to him a little tiny bit.

Dean lifted his head off the back of the couch and met John's eyes. "Alright." He said.

"Bobby thinks this thing is tracking you using your names."

"Okay." Dean said. He rubbed his hand against his temple and tried to determine if that was a question. It wasn't. But Dean had one of his own. "What is it?"

John pursed his lips and Dean didn't think he was going to answer. "It's a demon." He said finally. And, okay, Dean would've preferred Sam not to hear that bit of information.

Sam fidgeted beside him. "How is it using our names to find us?" He said.

"Doesn't matter."

That didn't satisfy Sam. Dean didn't have to look at him to know that.

"Can it hear us whenever we use them?" Sam said. "Or when we write down our names? Or what?"

Dean hadn't thought about all that. Sammy did ask good questions. Sometimes. It was bound to happen with the mere quantity of stuff running through his head.

John sat down across from them. "It's a type of ritual magic." The man peered at Sam. "It can locate anyone who uses your given name."

"Wait." Dean leaned forward. "Every time someone says Dean Win-"

"Don't say it!" Sam slapped his arm. "Then the demon will find us. Is that right?"

"Bobby says it only works when someone who isn't you says it and only the first time they use it. Something about the power of naming. But I wouldn't risk it." John ran his hand over his stubble. "They came after you when your foster parents put in adoption papers. And again when my contact repeated the information on you boys." He looked between them. "Mary and I have reason to believe it may have been looking for you for awhile. Can you think of any reason it didn't find you earlier?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah." He could think of about nine reasons. Dean wiped sweat from his brow and closed his eyes.

"You care to elaborate, son." John said. Dean felt his eyes on him. "Now, Dean."

Dean looked at him. "Well. Could've been the fact we've been in eight different Foster homes. And a few group homes here and there between them. Or maybe it could've been the fact the system had us listed as Dean and Sam Smith until Frank and Beatrice finally made them change it." That suddenly worried him. "Wait. Did they get killed because I kept bugging them about fixing our names?" Dean felt dizzy. He reached out and grabbed the arm of the couch to keep from toppling over. He swallowed down the nausea coming over him. Luckily, John didn't notice.

"Why'd they have you listed as Smith?" John said. "And how did you end up in Oklahoma?"

Dean shrugged. He didn't want to answer that. And he needed his question answered. "Did they get killed because of me and the name thing?"

"No." John said. "Answer the question, Dean?"

"Answer mine." Dean said.

"I already told you, no. Your foster parents getting killed was neither your fault nor Sam's fault." He took in a deep breath of air. "Mary's demanding radio silence. So I need to know what you know. How'd you end up in Oklahoma?"

"We've always lived in Oklahoma." Sam said. He looked at Dean. "Right?""

"Yeah-"

"No." John cut in. "We lived in Kansas." He turned his attention to Dean. "Who took you after the fire? Your mother and I..." His face fell. "Your mother and I were shown two badly burned bodies."

Dean's head pounded. That meant more people – kids – were dead. He glanced at Sam. But he couldn't help being happy Sam wasn't one of those bodies. Maybe he zoned out for a moment because he startled when John placed his hand on his knee.

"Dean. What do you remember?" He prodded.

Dean didn't want to talk about it. John didn't sound like he was going to accept that, though.

"I don't know." He let the memories push into his head. "There was a fireman. I think he dropped us off with social services. He said our parents were dead." Dean frowned. John had asked him about people with yellow eyes earlier. Dean looked at him. "He…he might have had yellow eyes. He pulled us from the fire."

John tensed at his words. "You sure?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. Might have been a reflection of the flames." He stretched his leg out. It was throbbing again.

"He told them Smith." John said. His brows drew together like he was considering the implications.

"No. He didn't say much of anything other than orphan." Dean chuckled. "Smith was the great state of Oklahoma's social services idea. I told them to fix it a few years ago, but me and the social worker didn't really get along. I guess we weren't exactly top priority."

"No one asked you your name?"

Dean shrugged. Mary strolled out of the kitchen. She pointed to the sandwiches. "You two should be eating." She said turning to John. "Bobby's agreed to let us stay for the week and he's securing the house. He thinks it would be best if they boys were in one place for a few days."

John nodded and turned back to Dean. "Why didn't you tell them your names?" He said again.

"I did." Dean said motioning between himself and Sam. "I told them Dean and Sammy." He just hadn't said anything after that. Not for awhile anyway.

"You knew your last name when you were four." John said. "You could say it and you could spell it."

"I told you, I asked the social worker to fix it."

Mary sat down beside Sam and peered at them. "Was there anything odd about the social worker?" She said.

"She kept four boxes of Kleenex on her desk." Dean said. "And none of them were opened."

Mary's lip twitched down. "No. I mean-"

Sam sighed. "She was fine." He said. "They didn't know our last name. Dean didn't talk when he was little."

"Dean talked all the time when he was little." Mary said.

"No." Sam said. "He used to only talk to me. They made him see a doctor and they put him in special classes at school. I know because one of our foster mothers thought it was funny. She said that I talked before him and that Dean drove the shrink crazy."

Dean clenched his fist. Sam was dead. He was gonna kill him as soon as he got a chance. That was private and they didn't talk about the not talking. Not Ever.

"Sam." Dean said through clenched teeth. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Sam sighed. "They didn't know our last name until you told them. And you didn't tell anyone until you were ten." Sam glanced at the adults. "But they didn't believe him."

"I talked way before I was ten." Dean said. He didn't want John and Mary getting the wrong idea and thinking he was dumb. "I talked when I was six." They looked at him like that was pitiful. It wasn't like he couldn't talk before that. And he had always talked to Sam. Dean flopped back on the couch and sighed. This was exactly why he didn't like people to know about it. "I didn't think that much about fixing our names until later." He added. "And the social worker thought I was making it up because I wanted a last name that meant rifle." He thought back to a few of his conversations with her. "She wouldn't even say it." He shrugged. "But, in retrospect, I guess that was a good thing."

"Seems so." John said but he didn't sound too happy. "Anything else we need to know?"

"No." Dean said, resting his head back.

Sam took in a deep breath. "Dean says his leg is infected." He said matter-of-factly. "It's worse than it was."

Dean ended up with John, Mary, Bobby, and Sam – who was dead as soon as Dean got him alone – staring down at him while he laid pants-less on the couch pretending his boxers were shorts.

Sam sounded pissy. "That really looks bad, Dean." He said glancing up at Mary. "That looks bad."

"Yes, Sam." She put her hands on her hips. "It does." She cleared her throat. "I'm taking him to the emergency room."

"I don't need-"

"Dean." Mary put her hand on his forehead looking sweet and motherly. "You don't get a vote."

"I'll take him, Mary." John said. "You stay here with Sam."

"I'm not staying!" Sam said.

"Sam." John pulled an irritated face. "You're staying here with your mother."

"No." Mary said. "I'm not staying here, John. I'm taking Dean to the hospital."

"I can carry the boy in." John said.

This got worse and worse. Dean attempted to push himself to his feet, but John reached out and stopped him.

"Keep off that leg, Dean."

"I don't need to be carried." Dean was mortified. "And I don't need a hospital. Just give me some antibiotics or something." The room was beginning to spin again. Dean concentrated on not toppling over until it stopped.

Mary glared at John. "He gets this stubborn streak from you." She said. "They both do." She sat beside Dean on the couch. "You're going to the emergency room, Dean. I'll take you."

Bobby ended up taking him.

"This is stupid." Dean said leaning his face against the cool glass. "I'm fine."

"Sorry kid." Bobby said. "But that wound needs to be flushed out." He pulled into the hospital. The building was brown brick and square. Its four stories looked especially dull beside the gray sky. "Besides, it looked like you needed a break from those three."

"Not from Sam." Dean said, grimacing as the sappy words blurted from his lips. It must've been the fever talking. "I mean…I mean I like to keep an eye on the kid. That's all."

"Trust me, Dean." Bobby parked and turned to him. "I got my issues with John and Mary, but they'd die, kill, and torture before letting anything happen to your brother…or you…again." He jumped out of the car, hurried around it, and opened Dean's door. The air outside was bitingly cold. "C'mon."

Dean let him pull him up and out. "You're not gonna try to carry me inside are you?"

"Nah." His breath fogged the air. "But let me help you. No reason to hurt yourself for nothing." He pulled Dean's arm around his shoulder and took some of the weight. They'd gotten five feet when Dean heard the deep rumble of the Impala's engine. John was driving. He parked and Mary and Sam jumped out of the backseat. John cut the engine and followed.

Dean exchanged a concerned glance with Bobby.

"John?" Bobby's arm tightened. "Everything okay?"