Second to last chapter, I hope that this is alright. Sorry for the lateness, however I did warn you.

They were about ten minutes from Singer Salvage when Sam suddenly turned to Dean.

"Take me home." It was said quietly, but it was a command, not a request.

Dean frowned, head swiveling alternately between the road and Sam.

"We're almost there." The statement held an unspoken question. Sam just shrugged.

"I want to go home."

Dean felt frustrated and upset by Sam's comment. Sam had been standoffish and weird all day. Dean was more worried than mad, but Sam was acting like something had happened.

"Sam, we are going home," Dean said, trying to make Sam understand. Sam turned his head toward the window to stare out at the passing scenery.

"Just take me home, Dean." It was so defeated sounding. The stress that had building in Dean all day from Sam's weird attitude suddenly exploded. He slammed on the brakes, wheels squealing and both occupants jerking from the sudden movement. Sam looked at him then, but Dean didn't look at Sam.

Turning the wheel, Dean did a full 180, driving back the way they had come. Sam thought at first that Dean was taking him home, so he frowned when Dean turned onto the highway instead. Sam watched in shock as Deanguided the car toward Buffalo Ridge. Sam had never been there before. It was just a bunch of fields with small, accompanying farm houses. They drove until they were passing through farms with trees peppering the landscape. Apart from the few houses, there were no signs that anyone else had been through this way, and the road was equally as deserted. They kept driving until Dean finally pulled off onto a dirt road, which theyfollowed until they reached a small, burbling, stream, where Dean parked and turned off the car.

Sam watched as Dean ignored him and climbed out of the car. He peered over his shoulder to continue watching his brother as Dean headed to the trunk of the Impala and opened it. Hesitantly, Sam opened his door andfollowed Dean's lead.

Walking cautiously over, he saw that Dean was pulling open a blue cooler. His eyes widened when Dean took out two beers, one in his good hand, the other held awkwardly under his arm. Dean turned to Sam and held out the beer, his eyes glinting with determination. When Sam didn't reach out he gave a huff of frustration and grabbed Sam's hand, forcing the beer into it.

Without a word Dean headed over to where the tiny stream was and sank onto the ground, opening his beer as he did. Sam stood for a few more moments, then went over and sat down next to his brother.

"Dean?"

Dean ignored him and took a swig of his beer. Sam was completely confused.

"I don't–what's going on?"

"You're supposed to open it."

Sam looked down at the beer in his hand.

"But–"

Dean snatched Sam's beer away from him and opened it. Without a word, he handed it back. A few moments passed in which Sam just sat, watching with worry as Dean sipped his beer.

"It's your first beer, right?"

Sam nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak.

"Good. I can do that, then," Dean affirmed before Sam was able to get a word in edgewise.

"Do what? Dean?"

Dean finally turned to look at Sam.

"When are you going to get it, Sam?"

"Get what?"

"That I'm your brother, that I'm going to be there for you, that I won't just leave."

He studied Sam with intense green eyes.

"You can tell me when you're being hurt, tell me about the crushes you have. I'm family Sam, and that's not changing."

Sam blinked.

"So just drink your beer and shut up."

Sam gave a small nod and took a sip of his beer.

"First beer." Sam said. He thought he understood what Dean was saying. But despite how warming it was to hear Dean say those things, he couldn't tell Dean what had happened to him. He wasn't going to lose his brother, and his determination in that matter matched that of Dean.

Dean gave a small shrug. Sam scooted closer to Dean and nudged him with his elbow.

"Thanks Dean."

Sam leaned against his brother, head coming to rest on Dean's shoulder. Dean responded by putting his right arm around Sam, beer still gripped in it.

"I had a crush on Sadie Pratchett."

"Really?" Dean said, moving back a little to look down at his brother with disbelief etched across his face.

"Isn't she that hairy sophomore? I heard she beat up a boy for talking to her."

"She's not hairy, Dean!" Sam protested.

"Whatever you say, little brother."

Sam glared at his brother before leaning back against him.

"I said 'had'. I tried going to talk to her but she was in the bathroom with Michael Taliver."

Dean laughed.

"Shut up, my mind was scarred by that! I didn't know you could have that much of your face attached to another person's."

"It can be attached to a lot more than just their face." Dean said suggestively.

"Eww! That's just gross, Dean. God, you're such a jerk!" Sam said, a joking tone to his voice. He had pushed away from Dean again and was scooting away from him.

"Aww, don't be like that Sammy, it's not my fault you act like such a bitch."

Sam sent him a full-on bitch-face. "I do not!"

"See, right there! Bitch-face!"

Sam's face contorted into an even grumpier look. Dean laughed again before wrapping his arm around Sam's neck and dragging him in to give him a noogie. Sam gave a squawk of protest but didn't fight all too much, because Dean was using his arm that was in a cast and was being real gentle. Eventually, they both broke off, panting with laughter.

"You spilled your beer, Sam."

"What?" Sam's eyes widened as he realized that he must have kicked the bottle over during their tussle or something, since its contents were now spilling out and sinking into the dirt beside him.

"It's alright, just means we'll have to do the first-beer thing sometime later. Maybe after your first-driving thing."

Sam looked up at that, eyes wide.

"Wait? You really mean that? You'll teach me how to drive?"

"'Course Sammy, I'm your big brother. I get to help you with all of your firsts." Dean paused to consider that "Well, maybe not all of them."

Sam grimaced at that and gave a small chuckle.

They sat for a while longer, Dean finishing his own beer off while Sam sat contently beside him. It was a comfortable silence, and both enjoyed sitting in the dirt, despite the cold that was beginning to settle in around them. The sun was starting to set, the chill in the air that marked the beginning of November growing rapidly into an unwholesome frost. The tiny stream still gurgled; the winter had been late in coming this year and everyone anticipated it would be at least another week before the snow hit. It was nice, though: unremarkable fields around them and plain dirt beneath them, distant and secluded in comfortable isolation from the rest of the world.

"I don't know what you don't want to tell me, Sam, but when you're ready, you can tell me."

Sam looked over at his brother, who was watching the last bit of sun dip below the horizon.

"Okay."

"It's my job. You know that, right? As a big brother."

Sam smiled. Despite the warmth he felt at Dean's words, Sam shivered as a sudden rush of freezing wind reminded his body that it was still clad in only a thin hoodie. Dean, apparently, had noticed.

"Let's get you back to your house. I can show you the surprise tomorrow."

Dean levied himself up and Sam followed suit. They headed back to the car, where Dean immediately turned on the heater. They waited a few minutes for the car to warm up before heading down the dirt road and onto the highway that led back to Sam's house.

They didn't talk in the car. Things weren't completely fixed, and life wasn't perfect, but then, they never would be. And they were okay with that, because they had each other. As long as they knew that, they figured, they'd be okay. For now, everything was new and raw, since they'd only recently learned that they were brothers and both had just gotten out of the hospital.

It was dark by the time Dean pulled up in front of Sam's house. They exchanged smiles as Sam got out of the car.

"Tomorrow?"

"Always."

Sam shut the door, reassured by his brother's answer. He walked up to the house, trepidation rising in him. The time had come to face his foster father.

Bobby had tried to clean up (the house was never an absolute mess, but it wasn't what you would call up to housewife standard). He surveyed his front room and dashed his previous thought. It was toeing the fine line between livable and derelict. Bobby shrugged. Eh, Mrs. Whittam, who worked for CPS, owed him and probably wouldn't care. She was coming by that afternoon to "assess" the place. In fifteen minutes, actually, Bobby corrected upon glancing at the clock.

Some papers had to be signed and Mrs. Whittam would talk him through some things, answer questions and the like. Apparently, she had gotten Sam's case transferred faster than anticipated and, consequently, would be visiting with Sam tomorrow. She'd evaluate the home and come up with some easy reason to have him placed with Bobby. If luck was with them, Sam would be in their home by the next week.

Bobby smiled at that. Both their boys where they were supposed to be. Then there was the telltale sound of crunching gravel that was indicative of a car's arrival, which, without the added rumbling of the Impala's engine,meant that Mrs. Whittam must have just arrived. Bobby let out a short sigh and headed to the kitchen, where he had made up some sandwiches in an attempt to host, or whatever it was people did. It seemed appropriate for the occasion. Bobby looked at the sandwiches before shaking his head and putting the plate back in the fridge. Better leave those for Dean to scavenge later.

A knock at the door had Bobby heading out of the kitchen to answer it. He opened it to the tall and intimidating woman that was Mrs. Whittam. She stood at an impressive 6'2" and was broad. She was a far cry fromconventionally beautiful, but she had a softness in her face which was clearly feminine, along with something fierce but kind that made her face beautiful in a way physical aesthetics never could.

"Bobby," she said, a smile coming onto her face.

"Laura."

A warm handshake ensued (which made Bobby feel like his hand would fall off). Then they were heading into the living room.

She sat down, completely unfazed by his house and its condition.

"How you been doing, Bobby?" She asked sincerely.

"Been better. Dealing with hospitals is always a pain in the ass."

Her smile softened seriously and she nodded. "I read about that, in the paper. Copious amounts of blood loss?"

"Yeah, vampire."

"You have shit luck. Or, your boy does, at least."

Bobby nodded, Dean was quite the trouble magnet. Honestly, it had been awful when he was a kid and had only gotten worse as he'd gotten older and perfected that stupid-ass grin which pissed off most living beings.

"Though I assume you're sick of talking about that. I'm here for Sam."

Laura opened an attaché she had brought in with her and pulled out a small stack of papers.

"There are some things I need your signature for, but other than that, I have everything filled out and all the fake dates in place along with reviews. You know,"

she said, looking up at him with a hint of amusement,

"I could go to jail for this."

She wasn't accusing so much as amused by the fact that she was performing an illicit action.

"I know."

Laura handed him a file.

"These are some reports you will probably want."

Bobby glanced at them, then offered them back.

"I already have these."

Laura took them back with a good-natured chuckle.

"You already know about Sam and his history, then."

"I'm well aware of it."

Laura nodded.

"Well, I'm sure I'm just kicking a dead horse, but kids like these. . . they try your patience. Some issues a person gathers from their experiences never go away. If you're not ready to deal with that long-term, you'll hurt the boy more than he's already been hurt."

Laura had spent her entire life in working with foster kids, and she had originally worked with difficult cases, usually those involving hard-core abuse. Some things never left a person and things like reactive attachment disorder and institutionalized deprivation happened in the early years and ruined a child's life.

"Are you willing to work with Sam for the rest of his life?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in the response, and Laura smiled at the commitment behind Bobby's tone. She didn't doubt him.

"Alright, well, here are the papers you need to sign. After my meeting with Sam tomorrow I'll be able to have Sam with you by next Friday."

Bobby nodded, feeling slightly nervous. It was similar to the time he'd taken four-year-old Dean in. He'd learned that kids had to get shots and visit the doctor and so many other things. It had been overwhelming. With Sam, he'd been researching abuse victims and how to help them. It was overwhelming now, too.

"It's going to be hard, Bobby. I won't lie. Nothing about this whole situation is going to be easy. But whenever you need help, I'll come by, and I'm sure Dean will be eager to be as involved as possible. And if you are going to involve Dean in this process, you need him to be aware of what that entails. Honesty between you and the boys will go a long way in helping everyone adjust and improve."

"Thanks, Laura."

"Anytime, Bobby. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have my family with me right now. My kids have a future, thanks to you, so it seems only fair that I help you make a future for your children."

Bobby felt something warm grow in him when she said "your children." John may have the genes that connected him to his boys, but Bobby had been the one to raise Dean. He also had a feeling that John would never be able to leave hunting, despite the man's claim that he would quit for his boys. In some ways, he probably should go back, since he was one of the most skilled hunters in the field and not having him out there fighting evil could only mean bad news for the rest of the world.

Laura stood up and extended a hand to Bobby again. Grasping his hand, she pulled him in for a tight embrace.

"Don't be a stranger, Bobby."

She headed to the door, let herself out, and walked to her car. Bobby smiled fondly as she drove off.

Sam stepped into the house, anticipating his foster father would be standing in wait, ready to pounce on him. Instead, the lights were off and no one was downstairs. Sam tiptoed through the first floor but didn't find anyone. Walking up the steps he heard the vague sounds of voices. One was Mr. Sanders, and it sounded like the man was furious. The other voice wasn't so much a voice as the sound of someone crying. Worry and unease grew in Sam with each step he took. On the top floor, he saw the door of Mr. Sanders's room open just a crack. Light was pouring out, along with the sound of choked sobs and a gruff voice telling someone to shut up.

Sam took a few fearful steps closer. He placed his hand on the door and pushed it open. The sight of Mr. Sanders horizontal and pinning Diana to the bed registered in Sam's mind, causing him to freeze. He knew what Mr. Sanders was doing. Without thinking, Sam began to back up. He bumped into a dresser that was right next to the door, sending a vase that had been atop it tumbling to the floor. The loud thump made Mr. Sanders look up.

The man glared at Sam, and Diana continued sobbing, her face tracked with makeup and salt water.

"Get out, Sam."

Sam didn't move. Diana was begging, repeating the word "please" in soft gasping breaths. Sam shook his head, brown hair flopping back and forth. Dean was brave, Dean didn't back down, Dean would do anything to save someone. He remembered the way his brother had thrown himself at the vampire, the way that Dean had taken on five guys to save Sam. No matter how afraid Sam was, he could be brave for someone else, just like Dean was.

"Sam," Mr. Sanders said, his tone thick with warning.

Sam grit his teeth and shook his head again.

"No." He said it quietly, but it still had Mr. Sanders getting up from the bed. Sam widened his stance, no longer shrinking away. He was terrified, so terrified that his hands were shaking.

"What was that?" Mr. Sanders asked, eyes narrowing as he took another step towards Sam. Sam willed himself to look up into his foster father's eyes. Tightening his shaking hands into fists, Sam steeled his resolve to do what he knew he had to.

"I said 'no'."

Mr. Sanders' face twisted maliciously and he advanced on Sam, forcing him to scramble backwards into the hall. With swift hands, Mr. Sanders grabbed Sam by the throat and slammed him against the wall in the upstairs hallway. Letting out a small, cut-off cry, Sam began tugging at the fingers encircling his throat and kicking out at the man with his legs. A kick hit home in the lower region, and Mr. Sanders's hold slackened a little before tightening even more. He slammed Sam's head into the wall again, making the boy see stars.

"You don't say 'no,' Sam."

His hands tightened even further, and Sam began to panic as the pressure prevented him from being able to take a breath. Moments passed, and Sam's vision began to fade in a haze of red and black. Then, the hands loosened enough for him to breath, and he registered another voice.

"I said put him down!" Diana's voice was shaking and thick with tears. Sam looked over Mr. Sanders's shoulder to see Diana standing with the gun from Mr. Sanders's drawer in her hand.

"Put him down!" she screamed again. "Or I'll shoot!"

Mr. Sanders's hands loosened again and he raised them up in the universal sign for "don't shoot." Sam collapsed to the ground, taking in deep breaths and rubbing at his aching throat. He watched as Mr. Sanders stepped away from him and towards Diana.

"Don't come near me!" she yelled again, taking a shaky step back. Her clothing was rumpled and she was shaking so badly that the gun was only staying on Mr. Sanders because of how close she was.

He ignored her and took another small step forward.

"I mean it!"

Mr. Sanders dashed forward and grabbed the hand with which Diana held the gun. The gun went off and he tackled her, causing it to fall and spiral across the floor away from them. Mr. Sanders began hitting Diana and she screamed out in pain. Sam ran for the gun and, without thinking, fired once, then twice. Mr. Sanders collapsed on top of Diana. Sam stared fearfully at the scene in front of him, then at the gun in his hand. Diana slid out from under Mr. Sanders, still shaking, but now with the addition of a river of blood pouring down her face from an injury.

"Sam?" she whispered, looking up at him.

"Is he–" She looked down at Mr. Sanders. "Is he dead?"

Sam didn't answer, just handed her the gun and warily approached the man. He tentatively reached out to feel the side of Mr. Sanders' neck. Ten seconds passed and he felt nothing. Backing away, Sam took in the growing puddle of blood.

"Yeah," he said, looking over at her, "he's dead."

Suddenly scared to be in the room with the body, Sam began heading toward the stairs.

"I'm going to call the police."

Diana nodded, then got up in a rush to follow him when she saw Sam heading downstairs. Grabbing the phone in the kitchen, Sam dialed 9-1-1.

"There was a gun shot."

"I don't know."

"I–I–" Sam's hand shook at the demanding question, and he quickly hung up the phone and sunk to the floor, arms looping around his knees. Diana sunk down next to him, her wide, fearful eyes a stark contrast to her usual confident attitude.

"What do we do?"

Sam shook his head and buried it in his knees. A few moments later, Diana gently settled her arm around Sam.

"It's okay, we're okay."

She sounded like she was crying again.

"You saved me, Sam. Thank you."

Sam nodded numbly. What was he supposed to do? He had just murdered someone. What if he went to jail and never got to see his family again? The fear paralyzed him, and both of the teens stayed on the floor until the police came. Diana answered the door and the two officers came in. She was a sight to see, clothing torn and bruises adorning her face along with blood. Sam had thick bruises forming around his throat and was still shaking like a leaf. Diana's usual ability to be a calm and collected queen bee returned, and she took control of the situation, showing the officers the body and telling them what had happened.

"I had the gun and he let go of Sam. Then he tried to tackle me, and I shot him."

Sam looked up in surprise at Diana but Diana just shot him a look warning him to shut up.

The cops called in some more people and said they were going to take the two down to the station. Sitting in the car, Sam turned to Diana.

"Why did you say that?"

Diana shrugged. "Say what?"

Sam frowned and he lowered his voice. "You know what."

Diana stared out the window.

"It doesn't matter, Sam."

Eventually, they were settled down in the police station and a nurse was looking them over. At some point, they took Diana off to talk to her and the nurse had Sam take his shirt off, to his utter horror. After that, everyone was extremely kind and offered him blankets and food and gentle pats on the shoulder. It was several hours later when he heard a familiar voice. Sam was in one of the back rooms, but the door was open and he could hear what was going on in the foyer.

"Where's Sam?! Where is he?!"

Sam's eyes widened. He would know that voice anywhere. Jumping up from his seat, he rushed into the foyer where Bobby was trying to get Dean to calm down and the receptionist was trying to talk to a tall, intimidating woman.

"Dean!"

Dean turned upon hearing the voice of his little brother, and smiled. The two collided in a messy hug.

"Sammy! Laura called and said something about a gun shot and the police and you. I was so worried!"

Sam clung to his brother, the fear of the last several hours melting away in his brother's tight embrace.

"It's okay, m'okay," he said, the words muffled from his face being buried in his brother's jacket.

Dean suddenly pulled back, and his green eyes immediately started roving over Sam, checking for injuries.

"Your neck." Dean's eyes were wide with worry and a hand gently traced the purpling area on Sam's neck. Sam shrugged before looking up in adoration at his brother.

"I said I'm okay."

Dean glared at that and reached a hand out to flick his brother in the nose.

"Sure you are."

He didn't say anything more, instead guiding Sam over to a couple of the chairs that decorated the foyer and wrapping an arm around him. Sam was exhausted, and Dean seemed to understand that, since he didn't ask any questions. Sam leaned into his brother and let his eyes shut. He knew that Bobby and the tall woman were arguing about him, that he may have to stay at the police station. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter and before he knew it, he was drifting off, nestled snugly against his brother. Dean just tightened his arms around his younger brother and laid his head on top of Sam's.

He didn't know how much time passed, but he was half-asleep when Dean picked him up, bridal style, and carried him out to what he knew was the Impala from the smell and sound of it. Dean stayed in the back with him, allowing Sam to lay his head in his lap. The car lulled him even more deeply to sleep and he didn't stir until he felt his brother gathering him up again and taking him into Bobby's house.

Sam curled in closer.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Hmm?"

"We home?"

Dean smiled.

"Yeah Sam, we're home."