A/N

MIGHT be able to squeak this chapter in before I leave. MIGHT. If you're reading this—I managed to. I'm thinking the story's gonna wrap up in a couple of chapters…I've got an idea for either a Dean story or young adult John—or Castiel, that would work too. OLD Castiel, not the weird new one. Sammy would work, but I promised I'd be fair and not torture one brother more than once before the other got a turn.

Anyways…

Here's the next chapter.

DISCLAIMER: None. I wanna see what happens.

"Well, that worked nicely." Bobby grunted, eyeing the bloody knife he now held in his hand. He had used Sam's breakdown as an opportunity—probably the only one he would get—and had pulled on the knife with all the strength he possessed. The sound of metal grinding against bone would be one that Bobby wouldn't forget for as long as he lived. After the grinding had halted, the squelching had began; that sound was only relatively less nauseating, and Bobby had carefully wrested the knife from Sam's hip without further ado. The bumbling idjit called "Castiel" had managed to snap into gear and clamp a strong hand over Sam's mouth before he could let loose another of those ear-piercing, gut-wrenching wails that was sure to wake the dead.

Bobby wasn't sure how to clean a bone wound. Pour holy water and alcohol in, stitch the man up, and hope for the best? That was Plan A, and Bobby was sticking to it. Bobby doubted Maggie's knife had any supernatural ties, but he'd learned it was better to be safe than sorry.

So he set the knife in the bathroom sink to clean later, and returned to find Castiel laying Dean gently on the spare bed. Samantha felt the weight shift and cautiously poked her head out from under the blankets like a small, pale turtle with a wig of curly hair on its head. Castiel stood over Dean, simply staring at the unconscious boy.

"CASTIEL!" Bobby snapped, effectively startling the man out of his trance. He turned steely eyes on Bobby.

"Yes?"

"You. Help me stitch 'im up. Then, I get some answers."

"Can you not talk and stitch at once?"

"It's not me I'm worried about."Bobby mumbled with a shake of his head, grabbing the whiskey and downing a shot. It was only after the alcohol was burning its way down his throat that he remembered that Sam had drank out of it just minutes ago. Oh well. Alcohol kills germs, don't it…?

"Hold him down, gently."

Castiel hurried to sit by Sam's head, lifting the man's torso into his lap. He wrapped his arms gently around Sam's neck and shoulders, clasping his hands together on Sam's chest, locking his grasp. Bobby threaded a needle and grabbed a towel to mop up the blood that was still slipping sluggishly out of the wound. The first pierce of the needle had Sam squirming. The third stitch set him sweating—again. By the sixth stitch, Castiel was having a hard time holding Sam down, and Bobby was rethinking the idea that he was going to get questions answered. Sam's shivering—or maybe it was trembling by now, Bobby wasn't quite sure—made it difficult for Bobby to stitch in neat, even rows like he was known for. But that didn't really matter, did it, when Bobby was nearly fist deep in blood and muscle? He tried to reason with himself that this was for the better good, but it nearly ripped his heart out to see the kid's sleeping face twisted in so much agony. He decided it was now or never, he needed a distraction and Castiel might be able to give it. Without so much as an intro, Bobby delved into the topic.

"How the hell did ya find the Winchesters, anyway?"

Castiel's head snapped up, and he pondered the question far longer than Bobby felt he needed to.

"Intuition." He finally said.

"What are you, a damn mother?"

Castiel quirked an eyebrow—the most Bobby had ever seen the man's face move—and sighed. "I had help, resources. Lots of them. But ultimately, it was Sam who found them."

"Okay, so what's yur point? What's in it for ya?"

Castiel frowned, tossing a small shrug. "Nothing. I don't need—fulfillment, in any way. It is my duty to protect Dean. It is Sam's duty to protect Samantha. We require no…payment."

Now it was Bobby's turn to frown, and he gave the task of re-threading the needle a bit more concentration than was actually required.

"So you two consider yourselves…what; guardians?"

Castiel nodded. Bobby's heart dropped like a lead brick. He'd been in the business long enough, he should have seen the clues, read the warning signs. He'd let his blasted emotion get in the way again.

"You're an angel, aren't ya." It wasn't a question. It was more of an accusation, and Castiel knew it.

"Yes. If that bothers you…we can go. But I will not abandon those children. We will always be nearby, ready…waiting."

"Waiting for WHAT?"

"Them to call us."

Bobby growled softly. "You're makin' no sense, boy."

Castiel huffed. "I am no boy, I am thousands of years old."

Bobby grimaced as if he were learning a new, particularly juicy cuss word. "Well, that's a sentence I've never heard before."

"Not aloud. But deep down, you have known. You are a hunter. You know we exist. You know that demons exist. We need to protect Samantha and Dean from the entities that oppose them."

"So that's how ya got here without the car? Ya zapped them?"

"Um…yes?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. At least now I understand why he's such an emotionless NERD…

"I'm not gonna tell ya to abandon the kids—they need all the help they can get. I just don't know…how're ya gonna explain this…to them?"

Dean lay on the bed, eyes firmly shut, stiff as a board. He'd heard Bobby and Castiel talking when he woke up, knew that whatever it was, Bobby wouldn't be telling Dean anytime soon.

"You're an angel, aren't ya?"

Dean swallowed, reining his questions in, keeping himself from shooting off the bed. An angel? Castiel said he was sending a PUPPY. Puppies aren't angels…angels aren't puppies. What the hell?

He knew Bobby would smack him for even thinking that word, but he didn't care. Not when it was his and Samantha's safety that Bobby and Castiel were so covertly discussing.

"How're ya gonna explain this…to them?"

Dean knew that now was his chance.

"Explain what?"

Both Bobby and Castiel jumped, heads whipping around to face Dean. Both of their expressions said "busted!" and if Dean hadn't been so angry, it would have been hilarious.

"Uh…Dean…it's…just something Cas and I were discussing."

"Don't lie to me Bobby." Dean used the same tone that Bobby had always used with him when he sensed Dean wasn't telling the full truth. Bobby's shoulders hunched, and Dean allowed a sly smirk to grace his lips.

"Are you guys trying to figure out how to tell me that he's an angel? Cuz dude, that's old news."

Castiel looked relieved, Bobby; even more confused.

"How the hell-?"

"The whole "telepathic transportation" thing was a dead give-away. I mean, we're not in Star Trek, or anything. And when he told me he could protect us…bing." Dean snapped his fingers."I was onto him."

Castiel nodded, even though Dean could tell that he had no idea what he was talking about. "Smart boy."

"Sure is." Bobby agreed, turning back to Sam. Dean sighed, happy that they both believed that he had figured it out, and had not eavesdropped on them. To be honest, Dean wasn't sure if he would have ever figured out how Castiel had gotten past their father's numerous locks on the house door, into the kitchen without Dean noticing—and more importantly, how he had touchedhis forehead, and suddenly there were in a warm, dry motel instead of standing on the sopping wet highway.

"How is he doing?"

Dean climbed onto the bed and eyed Sam warily. He didn't want another fist trying to smash its way through his head, no, once was enough for a lifetime, thank you very much! Dean was starting to love Sam like a…like a…what? He wasn't sure, an older brother, maybe? A young father? Who knew, but he certainly didn't love him enough to allow him to tunnel into his brain. Was love even the right word? He loved Samantha, yes. He loved Bobby. And he loved John, despite all his faults. He hated Maggie, that was sure as shootin'. But Sam was somewhere in the middle, more likeable than Castiel, who was growing on him, but not loved like family. Not yet…but maybe someday.

He was swimming. No…not swimming. Swimming was fun. Swimming didn't hurt. He wasn't drowning, either—you couldn't drown in nothingness. Well, not technically, anyway. He was in limbo, maybe that was it. Not dead, but not quite alive.

He shuddered. Limbo? Not cool. Quick, what can I feel? His brain was still working, still processing, if it wasn't functioning, and he was too damn close to the surface to allow himself to think anything worse. He heard a voice—a small one, using strange grammar—and a very deep, gravely one. Aside from that, there was nothing that could clue him in as to where he was. He knew nothing.

No…that was wrong. He was cold. He knew he was cold—no, burning! What? No, he was cold. I'm burning in ice. The ice is burning me. An icy fire! Huh. That would only happen with my luck, wouldn't it? Burnt to death in an freezer. Weird.

His thoughts were becoming more coherent, and with it, came the awareness. He relished in the awareness. First came the fuzzy feeling with the pounding headache.

Liquor.

Warmth—just a little, pressed into his side.

Uh…I'll get back to that…

Then came the fire. The real fire. The burning, stabbing, excruciating fire.

PAIN.

"Unnnggggmmmph."

"What?" Bobby jerked awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Castiel was standing sentinel by the door, staring into nothingness. Knowing what he knew now about the angel, though, Bobby figured Castiel could quite possibly be mid-teleconference, and nobody would know the difference. It took the angel ten minutes to respond when his name was called anyway! He still hadn't gotten any answers on Sam. Hadn't had the time to ask the questions. Sam! That's where the strange sound had come from. His mind was immediately awake, all thoughts focused on Sam.

Samantha was pressed tightly against the wounded man's side, both of them securely tucked under a mound of blankets, and even Bobby's jacket, because Sam just wouldn't stop shaking. But now the blankets were an apparent hindrance, and Sam was struggling weakly against them. The hand he managed to wrestle free of the blankets made its way feebly to Samantha, gently patting her. Bobby smirked; the kid was trying to figure out what the personal furnace nestled next to him was. Once he realized there was no way he was moving said furnace, Sam's hand fell limply to the bed.

Then his leg twitched.

Ah, so the battle wasn't over yet, huh? Bobby grinned. Yup. Definitely a fighter. Sam tried kicking the blankets off; was rudely stopped when he realized there was no moving his right leg without severely painful consequences.

"Owwwww….shiiiiid."

Bobby snickered. Was that supposed to be "ow, shit"…? Interesting. When Sam tried again, with the same result, Bobby intervened. He'd had enough amusement at the kid's expense for a while.

"Hey…" he put a gentle hand on Sam's forehead. All struggling ceased instantaneously at the contact. Sam sighed, leaning into Bobby's hand.

Huh. Now what.

"C…cas?"

"No, son."

A small smile ghosted over Sam's lips. "D…"

Oh, no you don't. Don't say it. Whoever he is, I'm not him.

"D—dad?"

Shit. Well, if he thinks he has a dad…maybe he's not an angel?

"It's Bobby."

The kid's face scrunched up, he tried to open his eyes. "Bu…but…I…"

Bobby rubbed his thumb in gentle circles on Sam's creased forehead, trying to smooth away the pain and frustration. Sam finally managed to crack one lid open, when he did, he saw Bobby, and his face fell. One pained, disappointed syllable broke Bobby's heart. Again.

"Oh."

Sam moved his head away from Bobby's hand, moaning as he aggravated his head injury. His head bumped into Samantha's and he jerked to full lucidity. He shot upright, knocking Bobby's hand out of the way unintentionally. As soon as his torso was vertical, he was bent over, clutching his stomach, coughing and heaving from pain-induced nausea. Nothing was coming up, not even bile. Not a good sign.

"Hey—careful." Bobby admonished. "Breathe…"

He rubbed Sam's back, figuring that Sam wouldn't care that he was touching bare skin. He didn't seem the type to shun a comforting hand anyway, but Bobby didn't want to push personal boundaries. The head radiating off of Sam's skin had Bobby wishing there was a way that he could get some medicine down Sam's throat without it all being tossed violently into the nearest trash can a few moments later. Maybe he could get some ice to wrap up in a couple of towels, see if that helped.

"Cas?"

The angel was at his side in an instant. So much for the whole "ten minute response time".

"Get a washcloth from the bathroom, some cold water."

Castiel nodded and was gone again, not bothering with the tiresome task of walking now that his "secret" was out.

Bobby turned to Sam, bending so he was at eye-level with the panting, shivering wreck that had once been a sturdy young man.

"Sam, you're pretty hot…"

A smirk flitted across Sam's face. "S…so I b-been told."

Typical Winchester. Whoops. That had slipped again. He really needed to talk to Cas about that possible connection.

"I'm sure you're quite the lady-killer, son. Earlier…you uh, you said something about your dad. What's his name? I'm thinkin' I should call him, let him know you're okay."

"Wha…" Sam looked confused.

"You asked if I was your dad."

Sam scrunched up his face. "M…mis…take."

"A mistake?" Bobby frowned. "Must have been. Your fever is too high. If we don't get it down—"

"NO! No hospital."

"Oh, look who suddenly found his voice again." Bobby chuckled, earning a withering glare from Sam. Bobby squeezed Sam's shoulder reassuringly.

"He will not die." Castiel said suddenly, holding a washcloth and bowl out to Bobby. "He cannot."

"I'm well aware what his…uh…demise…would do to the kids." Bobby growled.

"No. He is not physically capable."

"What, he's an angel too?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Castiel shook his head, setting the items down on the nightstand and leading Bobby away.

"Mr. Singer—Sam …he is not capable of dying. He is a drifter."

"A what? Drifters die, all the time." Don't you dare waste my time…

"Not that kind. A drifter. He does not belong anywhere, not in heaven, not on earth, not in hell. They are guardians, capable of moving through all dimensions, including time and space."

"Is that so?" Bobby frowned. Drifters. He'd never heard of them.

"Sam is one of a few. There are not very many. They are usually deceased family members of humans who have a supernatural purpose here on earth. Relatives of humans who need protecting until they are old enough, or experienced enough, to fight evil on their own."

Something clicked inside of Bobby's mind, something important, and it was like someone had dumped a bunch of knowledge into his mind and he had magically processed it all in record time.

"So Sam…is a Winchester?"

Castiel nodded. "Samantha had a brother. A twin. He died in the fire."

The fire…the nursery fire. Why didn't John tell me? Not that John was a wealth of information when it came to the topic, but still…

"He was a few minutes older than Samantha. He would have helped Dean look after her so Dean would not have to do it on his own. He was not supposed to die—they…they said it would only be Mary."

"Demons lie, Castiel."

Castiel nodded. "I know." His voice was quiet. "He wasn't supposed to take Sam. And he didn't…not quite."

Bobby quirked an eyebrow, signaling for Castiel to continue.

"The baby had weak lungs. He was nearly suffocated by smoke. The lack of oxygen put him into a coma—he died from brain trauma."

"Lack of oxygen to the brain, kills thousands of neurons. Wrecks havoc." Bobby mumbled. "Makes sense."

It was heartbreaking, really. But that would technically mean that Sam should be Samantha's age, not a young man nearing full adulthood.

"What about the age difference?" Bobby pried. "And the names? Did they really name their twins Samuel and Samantha?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. The age…like I said. Drifters move through time and space because they do not belong. When they as a human die before their time because of something an evil being did…they become a drifter, they receive a vessel that is exactly what their vessel would have been in the prime of their life; if they had lived."

"If they move through time, why didn't Sam see the knife coming? The bullet? Couldn't he have dodged them?"

"No."

Bobby heard the "like, DUH" tone loud and clear.

"They can see it, but only when they are outside of time. Once they are back inside of earth's dimensions, human dimensions…they are powerless to stop it. They know what will happen, when it will happen—but they also know that it must happen. They cannot change the present. They can only make themselves a part of it."

Bobby swallowed. Suddenly his mouth had become very, very dry. So Sam knew he was going to be shot. Knew he would be stabbed. But he came anyway. Way to remove yourself from the equation, kid. Another Winchester act of selfless heroism.

"Does Dean know?" Bobby asked quietly.

Castiel tipped his head toward the motel bed where Dean was sleeping. "He does now."

Bobby followed Castiel's gaze to see that Dean was now awake, sitting up, staring at them. By the look on his face, he'd heard everything. Bobby's heart went out to the kid. All this time, he had had a dead little brother and he didn't know it. He's been through enough! Why this?

Dean scooted off of the bed and moved to sit next to Sam, who, at some point during their conversation, had mercifully passed out again.

"I only remember bits and pieces of that night." Dean said softly. "I remember Dad pushing Samantha into my arms, telling me to run, to take care of her."

He sniffed, running a trembling hand through Sam's dark hair….his brother's hair. Bobby guessed that the gesture was more to ground himself than to comfort Sam.

"When Dad came out of the house…out of the fire…he was holding something…a bundle. I guessed it was clothes, something he'd managed to save." Dean fell silent for a moment. Neither Bobby nor Castiel were eager to encourage him to continue. Bobby wasn't sure he wanted to hear any of it, not any more. He was curious…but not that much. To his dismay, Dean continued.

"I didn't think much of it…not even the next day. Not even when he carried it into an abandoned lot—and didn't…" Tears were making their way down Dean's cheeks. "Didn't…when he came back he wasn't carrying anything. I never asked him about it. He never said anything. He just…walked in, a while later he walked out…we walked away."

Dean's hand stilled in Sam's hair, fisted it gently, even though Bobby could tell that everything was telling the boy to fist it as hard as he could, to find a distraction from the onslaught of new memories and emotions.

"We left him, didn't we? That bundle was Sam, and we left him! In a junkyard!" Dean sobbed.

Thank God it wasn't MY junkyard. Bobby groaned mentally.

"He was dead Dean." Castiel said unhelpfully. Bobby smacked him upside the head.

"I realize you angels aren't too big on emotions, but have a little empathy for the kid!" Bobby hissed, sitting down on the bed and pulling Dean into his arms.

"Castiel is right…regretfully." Bobby said softly. "There wasn't anything your father could do. He couldn't carry around a…a dead baby. It's not right."

Dean nodded, sniffling. "I know. It's just…he coulda told me, ya know? I could have…I coulda had a little brother. I should have remembered. I can remember Samantha coming home from the hospital, I can remember holding her as an infant…so why don't I remember Sam? Why don't I remember my brother! I had a brother…" He moaned. A smirk was pulling his lip up, but it was slightly forced. "Not that I don't love Samantha…but…she's a girl."

Bobby grinned. "And a pretty one at that."

"Yeah." Dean wiped his eyes, crawling out of Bobby's grasp. He knelt next to Sam, looking him over carefully, spending a lot of time on Sam's face.

And she'll be as beautiful as your brother is, Bobby assured the boy mentally. Yeah, Samantha would be one hell of a looker when she was grown up, if Sam's looks were anything to go by.

"Do you think…does he know?" Dean asked.

"That he was human?" Castiel asked. "Yes."

"Can he feel it?" Dean asked quietly.

Castiel's silence drove Dean to clarify his point. Dumb angels, Bobby frowned.

"Can he feel the pain?"

"Of loss?" Castiel got it now, bluntly, but he understood. "Yes."

This sent a fresh wave of tears out of Dean, and Bobby glared at Castiel.

"He can feel pain, but it cannot kill him. It can only drive him."

At this, Dean looked up. "You mean, motivate? Pain as a motivator?"

Castiel nodded. "Right now, physical pain is motivating him to heal himself, to allow his body to continue to fight this human-like weakness that has befallen it. Emotional pain will drive him for his entire existence. It is the only way that drifters can stay alive."

"You just said it couldn't' kill them." Bobby said.

"It cannot. But they can hang in limbo for long periods of time, forever, if they do not feel anything."

"So you're saying that Sam has felt the pain of emotional loss, every day, for the past what, five years? And that's the only thing that keeps him from being a vegetable?"

"It seems cruel…but to a drifter…that is their life, their purpose. Not to exist for themselves, but to exist for the ones who are feeling the very same pain. They know nothing else."

Bobby sighed. "I think that's enough confusing revelations for one night."

"It is morning, now." Castiel informed him.

Bobby glared again.

"Dean, why don't you get some sleep. I'll watch Sam."

Dean shook his head. "No. I've already slept. It's your turn Bobby. Besides…he's my little brother. I'll watch him. It's my job."

Bobby huffed. Now look what you've done, Cas! I'll never get him to leave Sam!

And maybe that was a good thing, Bobby wasn't sure. He wondered, if pain could motivate a drifter…love could too, couldn't it? Bobby knew that if Dean had anything to do with it, Sam would stick around. And if Sam stuck around, he'd grow on everybody. He'd worm his way into everyone's hearts with those dewy puppy eyes and that pearly white, double-dimpled grin. Sam obviously loved Dean and Samantha—he'd probably been watching them grow up—so it was only natural…only human, for the kids to love him back. Hell, Bobby was pretty close to loving the kid himself, and he'd known him less than twenty-four hours. Bobby sighed. Only time would tell. And Bobby hated waiting.

Ha ha! Got it posted. *sticks tongue out at ominous clock* I beat you, time! In all reality, I knew I would. I crammed everything in so I could write this and post it for you guys. Hopefully you all enjoy it! Sadly, it is truly the last chapter for about a week or so. I've said that for two chapters now, I think. Anyway, I will be looking forward to finding out what you guys think of my rendition of the Winchester's history, so make sure to drop a review in my inbox, if you're feeling up to it.

Have a good week =)