A/N: Yeah when I said soon….

Sorry for once again ghosting you guys! I've battled with this chapter for quite some time (hence the way too late update) and I've reached the decision to end the story here. I hope I'm not leaving with you with two many unanswered questions. Thank you to everyone who stuck around and I'm sorry to those whose ideas I wasn't able to incorporate. Hopefully in another story!

I would like to give a special thanks to TwistedDuck and WeezieLouiseLucyLou for leaving some of the most thoughtful reviews I've ever seen. You guys are true gems and I hope you're doing well!

This one's for you guys.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

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Conservator : a guardian or protector

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"Cereal."

"Milk."

"Coffee."

"Need."

"Shower."

"Sex."

"Gross."

"Your face."

"Dean–"

"Handsome."

"FOS."

"Hey–"

Bobby rolled his eyes at the banter coming from the backseat, but felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth regardless. It was good to hear Sam starting to sound like the sarcastic teen Bobby remembered.

The older hunter turned his car on the main street into town as the boys continued their word association game. They'd left John back at the house, where he was dutifully tuning up the Impala. Dean had been ready to help his dad out but Bobby had invited Sam to come into town with him and everyone knew Sam absolutely wouldn't go without Dean. Hence the reason both Winchester boys were squished into the backseat of Bobby's Chevrolet.

Finding a spot central to all the stores they'd need to visit, Bobby parallel parked and exited the vehicle.

Dean stepped out onto the pavement beside him, Sam quick to follow.

The sidewalk was thronged with people enjoying the coolness of the September morning. Dean felt Sam crowd closer to him, his younger brother's shoulder bumping his as he shrank back from the public.

"Here," Bobby said, passing Dean a piece of paper and a fold of bills. "You'll find everything on that list in the stores along this street."

Dean scanned the sheet as he absently slipped the money in to his pocket.

"Meet me back here at noon and we'll go for lunch. Call if you boys need anything."

Bobby took off one way while Dean spun to face the other. He felt Sam's fingers latch onto the back of his jacket sleeve as the pair set off.

They made it through the first store without too much trouble. No one bothered them unnecessarily or came near enough to set Sam off.

After the incident back at Bobby's three weeks ago, neither Sam nor Dean were eager to be around outsiders that Sam didn't already know or wasn't explicitly comfortable with. Dean knew it was going to be a process getting Sam readjusted and he was prepared to tackle that issue, but John was handling it the only way he knew how: push Sammy off the deep end and watch him flounder until he began to swim.

John had encouraged visits from Pastor Jim, Caleb, other hunters– practically anyone, each time forcing Sam to remain in the room and hold a conversation with the guests.

It pissed Dean off to no end, but he knew there wasn't anything he could really do other than stick by his brother and try to be a reassuring presence until the visit was over. Those were the nights Sam slept fitfully, crying out in his sleep for the tormentor in his nightmare to leave him alone, to just let him go.

Dean knew John was pushing Sam too hard, but it's hard to contest somebody as pig-headed as John Winchester.

Just that week, John had started Sam back on a training schedule, stating over breakfast that it was time for his youngest to get back on that horse. Thankfully, John seemed to have some sense of rationality left as the regimen he created wouldn't absolutely exhaust the teen.

Dean had been fairly impressed with how much of John's training Sam had remembered from before he was taken. And even though he would be the last to admit it, John was proud too. Sure, he wasn't at the caliber he used to be, but there was no doubt that Sam was classically Winchester trained.

John had given both boys the weekend off of training, hence the errand run with Bobby.

Dean had barely taken his second step out of the store when he was abruptly halted by Sam jerking his brother backwards. The elder Winchester blinked as a bicyclist whizzed through the space he would've been standing in had Sam not stopped him.

"Jerk," Dean muttered under his breath, glaring at the cyclist's retreating back. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam didn't respond, but Dean could still feel the younger Winchester's grip on his jacket, so he knew Sam was still with him at least. Dean drew Bobby's list from his pocket, first scanning the remaining items then combing the street to see which shop they'd need to hit next.

"Lug nuts…" he muttered absentmindedly to himself, scrutinizing the store fronts. A gentle tug on his jacket sleeve had him looking over his shoulder at his brother.

With his free hand, Sam pointed to a spot off to Dean's left diagonal. Following the direction, Dean's eyes fell on a small store sign with block letters: Boltastic!

"Huh." The corners of Dean's mount flicked down nonchalantly and with a shrug, he and Sam set off across the street.

"Good afternoon," a middle aged woman called lazily from behind the counter.

The hardware store was dimly lit, its vertically challenged rows of supplies giving the store more of gas station feel. As Dean had observed from the outside, the store wasn't very big. It had maybe eight rows in total; there was only one other customer inside.

Dean nodded curtly in acknowledgment to the man as he looked up at the brothers' entrance. He grunted his reply, quickly dismissing them and turning back to his browsing.

Taking the lead once more, Dean chose the aisle farthest from the other man and headed down it. With any luck, they'd avoid having to pass or interact with him at all. Now, of course Dean had heard the saying, don't judge a book by its cover. But he'd also been taught to always trust his instincts. And right now, his instincts were urging him to stay as far from this guy as possible.

He didn't seem like the type of weirdoes that the Winchesters usually went after, but there was something distinctly off about him.

Dean's instincts hadn't brought him this far for nothing.

Sam had been crouched a foot away from Dean, eyeing a box of nails on the bottom shelf when it happened. Dean's own attention was split between keeping an eye on Sammy and cross-checking the box of bolts in his hands against the specifications on Bobby's list. Had he had his vision split three ways, he would've seen the other man approaching.

But he was upon them before it was too late.

The man aggressively shoved his way past Dean, shoulder checking him hard enough to make him drop the box. The heavy container glanced off Dean's steel toed boots without issue, but Dean stumbled slightly from the impact, instantly drawing Sam's attention.

"Excuse you, jackass," Dean muttered, bending down to pick up the box.

The man swung around sharply. "I heard that," he grunted.

Dean's eyebrows raised sarcastically. "Well I said it out loud."

Sam was slowly rising from the floor, long legs unfolding for an impossible amount of time. But the man paid him no attention as he headed back towards Dean. "You getting smart with me?" He growled.

The elder Winchester rolled his eyes, but Sam could see in Dean's eyes that he was somewhat enjoying the confrontation. Distantly, Sam wondered when the last time was that Dean had gotten to hit something. He knew his brother could be a real junkie for a fight sometimes, but this was so not the place or time for that.

"No," Dean said simply, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The man saw it too. "Sir," he corrected. "That's no, sir to you, ya delinquent."

Dean's smirk only grew. "Whatever you say, gramps, sir."

Dean was walking an extremely thin line with this man's temper. The burly man's hands shot out and shoved the twenty year old's shoulders roughly before Dean had a chance to react.

When asked later, Dean couldn't quite say how the man ended up on the floor.

All he knew was that one second, the man's hands were on his shoulders and the next the man was flat on his back, Sam Winchester towering over him with unadulterated fury practically oozing through his pores.

"Don't touch my brother!" Sam bellowed, punctuating each word by driving his fist across the man's face.

The man was desperately trying to work his arms free from where Sam had them pinned with his knees to his rotund sides.

It took Dean less than two seconds to shake himself out of the stupor that had fallen as he'd watched Sam pummel the guy. He lunged forward and grasped his brother by the shoulders.

"Stop. Sam, stop!" Dean tried to pull the enraged teen off the older man, but Sam wasn't ready to relent. Dean had Sam's arms effectively restrained, but Sam had more weapons in his arsenal.

In one fluent motion, he dove forward, reared his neck back, and drove his forehead down into the other man's nose. A meaty smack accompanied the contact followed immediately by a shriek of pain.

Dean hauled Sam back in alarm.

Damn that kid was quick.

The clerk was yelling at the them to cease before she called the cops, but Dean was already backing out of the store with his brother in tow. He called hasty apologies as they slipped through the door and back out onto the sidewalk.

Sam stumbled momentarily before gaining his feet as Dean rushed them back across the street.

"What the hell was that?" Came Dean's panicked whisper. Every two steps, he looked back over his shoulder to ensure that the clerk hadn't really sicced the cops on them. "You can't just go around attacking people!"

But Sam wasn't to be cowed.

Now it was Dean's turn to stumble as he got a good look at his brother's face. His breath caught in his throat at finally seeing an expression other than fear, alarm, or dread scrawled across Sam's face.

It was anger.

"He shouldn't have touched you," Sam growled lowly, fists clenching at his sides as he stalked down the street. His eyebrows were pinched and his jaw set in that stony, unassailable way all Winchesters could. So stormy was his expression that other patrons on the sidewalk were quick to jump out of the way of his purposeful stride.

For once in a long, long time, it was Dean tagging along in his brother's wake.

He managed to shake off his wonder long enough to pull out his cellphone and make a quick call to Bobby. "Hey, it's me… No, we didn't get everything…Yeah well we ran into some trouble– what's that? Oh no we're fine. I think. I'll tell you about it later, but could you just meet us back at the car? The authorities might be joining the scene here soon."

Sam's blood was still pounding in his ears by the time the three men had met back at their rendezvous point. They decided to skip lunch and head back to the salvage yard instead. Sam didn't say a word the whole ride back. And earlier when Dean had slid into the backseat beside him, Sam's hands stayed in his jacket pockets.

Dean couldn't tell if this was progress or not, but he was almost shocked to find that he missed the constant presence of Sam's fingers latched onto his sleeve.

"Welcome back, Sammy," he whispered to himself.

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With love, Obsidian