Dean brought three pies.

Deanna looked thrilled.

Sam looked appalled.

The pies looked delicious.

One was apple, one cherry, and one key lime. Or, counted another way, one for himself, one for Deanna (which he'd have to help her with, obviously) and one for the others… or for Eric…or for later. He hadn't decided.

He had Sam's duffle in one hand, the three pie boxes balanced on the other, and his own bag hefted over his shoulder, most of which he almost dropped as Deanna barrelled into his shins, having rushed to hug him the instant he'd entered the Roadhouse and almost toppling him over in the process. Luckily Jo came over to take the boxes from him before they landed on the floor. When he thanked her though, she gave him a funny look, as if not accustomed to such civility from him.

"Argh! There's something stuck on my legs," he mocked, reaching down to scoop Deanna up into his arms. "What is this strange thing? Did I step in gum?"

He received a giggled 'no' as she flopped her head onto his shoulder, and another hug for his efforts, tighter this time and one that made his heart thump painfully and unexpectedly. Over the top of her head, his eyes met Sam's. A slight, almost sad smile played on his brother's face as he approached to take the duffle from him, and Dean quickly looked away, not sure why he felt suddenly so exposed and vulnerable, as if he were unmasked and on display.

"What have you been up to today?" he asked Deanna instead, shifting her to his side as she loosened her grip from around his neck.

"I was playing with Eric, and then I helped Daddy feed him, and then I brushed Sunny, and then I did some words, and then Jo showed me how to play on the green table with the balls and stick game but the stick was too big so Jo let me roll the balls by hand, and then we ate food and then I helped Jo's mom with tidying and then Sunny and I watched a cartoon, and then it's now."

"Wow, you've been busy," Dean commented, nodding his hellos to Bobby and Ash who were squirrelled away in the corner, Bobby behind books and Ash behind laptops. "You must be tired," he said to her and as if on cue, she yawned, despite shaking her head before resting it against his neck.

"You made good time," Sam commented, walking along side as they headed towards the bedroom. "How many speeding tickets do you have now? Or have you lost track?"

"Well I'd be happy for my richer-than-Trump brother to foot the bill if he wanted."

"Don't think I could afford to."

"Seriously though, you make all that just from lying to people in court?"

"That," Sam allowed, letting the dig slide. "And Jess' family are well off."

"Huh." Dean raised his eyebrows, lips pursed and head tilted, as if mulling something over. "She got any singleton cousins I should know about?"

"None desperate enough," Sam retorted as he hefted the bag onto the bed and unzipped it.

Surprise coloured his face when he saw the children's books and toys at the top of the bag. He'd requested clothes but hadn't mentioned anything else. He looked up at Dean but before he could comment Deanna spotted the items and wriggled down from his brothers' arms, reaching into the bag and pulling out a book.

"Daddy will you read to me?"

"Not just yet sweetheart," he appeased, settling her onto the bed. "Tell you what, why don't you see what else your uncle brought? You can keep your brother company for a little bit too."

Deanna looked over to the crib. "But he's almost sleeping," she pointed out.

"Then that just means you're gonna have to be extra quiet," Sam replied, crouching down and leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially to her.

Deanna grinned.

"As quiet as a mouse eating cheese?" she asked, leaning in and whispering back, following the rules of some game the two of them clearly often played.

"As quiet as a frog saying please," Sam replied.

"As… as quiet as a cat on its belly?" Deanna asked.

"As quiet as an elephant eating PB and jelly," Sam whispered back, kissing the top of her head as she giggled. "Pick out a book quietly and I'll read it to you later honey, OK?"

As the brothers exited the room Sam turned slightly to Dean.

"Thanks for bringing that stuff," he said. "I didn't even think."

"No big deal." Dean shrugged, feeling self-conscious again for some reason. "You and Ash come up with anything?" he asked, changing the subject and moving the conversation along.

"Well, after you mentioned Stacey I went over the CCTV again," Sam told him as they made their way towards Bobby and Ash. "I hadn't realised it was her when I'd seen the footage before. Even with all the extra clips Ash had, you can't really see her face, and I've never seen her drive that car. It's not even something I'd say she would've picked; a station wagon."

Dean hummed in agreement, not making any more comment than that.

"Big enough to hide a woman and a baby," Sam continued, airing the thought Dean had been censoring. "Not that you can see anything in the footage later when she leaves."

Dean sent his brother a side long glance. He knew Sam must have poured over the footage a million times since Dean's phone call. He also knew Sam was trying his best to be impartial. Saying things like that as if he were clinically analysing evidence of something emotionally unrelated to him.

He also knew behind the mask Sam was going through hell. He allowed his brother the dignity of his façade however, deciding to play along for as long as Sam needed him to.

"Ash, Bobby," Dean greeted as he and Sam pulled up chairs near the table. "Where're we at?"

Bobby let out a sigh, whilst Ash simply shrugged.

"Far as the car goes," Ash began. "Was a bust. Cash in hand, driven off the lot. She brought it to the house, then left after the… disappearance."

"Left alone?"

"Can't tell. None of the CCTV shows anything clearly enough."

Dean waited, before prodding. "Then what?"

"Then nothing," Ash said. "She headed to the wrong side of town and I lost her."

"You lost her?"

"It's the city man. Half the traffic cams on the poor side don't work, the others are duds. If I paid taxes, I'd be pissed. I'm tellin' ya, taxpayers in this country get screwed worse than a cork in a–"

"Ash," Dean warned wearily, and the younger man blinked, before refocussing to continue.

"Right. Well, like I said, I tracked her for a while but then," he shrugged. "Car could be anywhere. Most likely abandoned, coz she came back in a cab. I mean, she's nuts, according to her medical history. Full on channelling Britney, so who knows why she even bought the car."

Dean growled but said nothing more about it as he moved on.

"What about her medical records then," he prompted instead. "You got any leads about where she's been admitted?"

"I got her records from the state hospital," Ash offered. "I swear, they make their firewalls from fishing nets. Trouble is the records don't say anything 'bout where she was moved to. But Sam was able to call the husband."

"You spoke with him?" Dean asked, turning to face his brother, surprised that none of them, including Sam, had led with that.

"Not exactly" Sam replied. "His phone was off so I left a message. But apparently that's enough," he nodded back towards Ash.

"Well it will be when he turns his phone back on to pick up his voicemails. I've got a tracking program just waiting for him to bite."

"Great, then we'll know where he is, so we'll know where she is." Dean surmised, pleased with the development.

"Not so fast hombre," Ash interjected. "That'll let us triangulate his position, sure. But I'll need to cross reference that with local private healthcare facilities, find out which if any she's been admitted to."

"Shouldn't be too bad though, right?" Dean persisted. "Like you said, fire-fishnets… whatever."

"Firewalls. And private healthcare is trickier. Like wealthy people's privacy is worth so much more."

"But it's do-able."

"'Course it's doable," Ash retorted, looking insulted. "Just don't breathe down my neck expecting it to get done any quicker than it can get done."

Dean knew he deserved that. Hell, he probably deserved a lot worse, the way he treated Ash sometimes. He held up his hands in a 'fair enough' gesture as he leant back, before turning his attention to Bobby, raising his eyebrows in silent question. But Bobby simply shook his head again, sighing.

"Tried a locating spell," he offered. "But nothing."

"Hmm," Dean hummed in response, not questioning it as he continued. "That reminds me, I got something from Gavin and Stacey's. Think you could use it to run a spell on them? In case he doesn't pick his messages up any time soon."

"Won't hurt to try. Just need to get some more supplies."

Dean hadn't shown the least amount of concern that Kyle and Jess hadn't been traceable by the spell, and while the others may not have picked up on it or were content to let that slide if they had, Sam most certainly wasn't.

"You don't seem surprised we couldn't locate them," he noted. "There any reason why that shouldn't have worked?"

"I had a friend try something like that already," Dean said dismissively, but Sam wasn't willing to let it go.

"A friend? You? You have friends?" he raised his eyebrows, and it was only partially mocking. He was also genuinely surprised and not more than a little curious. He narrowed his eyes, viewing his brother with open suspicion. "Who?"

"Just a guy," Dean said evasively. "He couldn't locate them either. But he's sure they're alive."

"And you believe him?"

"Yeah I do."

"But you didn't ask him to locate Gavin or Stacey."

"Didn't occur to me."

"Huh. Must be some friend. I mean for you to trust him. What is he? A hunter? A psychic?"

"Something like that."

"He have a name at least?"

Dean wavered before relenting. "Cas."

"Cas? Okay. So, this Cas, what is he? Hunter or psychic? Or both?"

Dean didn't reply, and gave no indication that he intended to, as if he'd decided that the conversation was over regardless of what Sam may have wanted.

"Cas is an angel," Ash spoke up, eyes not leaving his screen, not realising that everyone had sent him a look at that comment.

"What Ash means," Dean responded before Sam could query it. "Is that Cas is a good guy. A saint. A friggin' tooth fairy. An angel. Whatever. Basically, I trust him. And if he says they're alive, I believe him."

"But he couldn't locate them." Sam pointed out. "He say why?"

Dean sighed, openly annoyed now at Sam's persistence.

"They're alive," he repeated, ignoring Sam's question. "He's looking into it."

Sam wasn't oblivious to the worry lines which had deepened on Bobby's face. Clearly it meant something significant if this Cas character was having trouble locating Jess and Kyle. Sam tried to focus on the part where Dean was certain that they were still alive, but he really, really, really hated this continued filtering of information around him. Before he could question Dean any further though, Dean stood, clearly having decided that the discussion was fully over.

"Ell around?" he asked, heading towards the kitchen.

"No," Bobby replied. "But she left food for you."

Dean grumbled something over his shoulder as he stalked away but none of them heard it.

"Who's Cas?" Sam asked Bobby as soon as Dean was gone, receiving an almost admonishing look from the older hunter.

"He's a friend of your brothers, like he said," Bobby replied at last. "They work together from time to time. Look, if Cas says they're alive, it's pretty certain they are. That's a good thing Sam. Focus on that."

"But that also means that someone's going to extreme lengths to hide them right? I mean if he's as good as Dean seems to think he is, and he must be for Dean to trust him, then why can't he locate them? Why couldn't you?"

"One thing at a time son. We're making progress," Bobby appeased, trying to calm the agitation he could see openly rise within the younger Winchester. Then his expression became sterner, and he gave Sam an almost paternal look. "And go easy on your brother. I know you want answers and Lord knows Dean can be an ass at times, but if he had anything more to tell us right now, anything important, he wouldn't hold out."

"I know," Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes and relenting a little. "I know."

"And as far as the rest of it goes," Bobby shook his head, sighing wearily once more. "You'd know better than anyone how to go about that but just… like I said, one thing at a time, okay?"

-oOo-

Dean was sat in a booth on the other side of the bar, picking noncommittedly at the food on his plate. Unsurprisingly his beer was getting more of his attention, but despite that as Sam made his way over to him, he snagged a few more bottles from the bar before approaching his table. Dean eyed him warily as Sam slid into the seat opposite. He didn't say anything at first but when Sam held out a beer towards him, he couldn't hide his suspicion.

"If I didn't know any better Sammy," Dean drawled, openly dubious about Sam's motives but taking the proffered bottle nonetheless. "I'd say you were trying to get me drunk."

Sam snorted.

"I don't think Ellen's got enough booze in the whole joint to make a dent in your sobriety." He held out his beer and waited till Dean clinked the neck with his own bottle. "And it's Sam."

Dean rolled his eyes as he took a swig and Sam watched him as he sipped his own.

"This place isn't bad really." Sam commented after a while indicating to the bar, hoping a conversation would take hold and keep his mind diverted from morbid thoughts.

"You mean for a dive?" Dean smirked and Sam gave him a petulant look.

"I mean for you. I'm glad you've got a place to crash other than endless motels."

"Nothing wrong with a good motel."

"'Cept your definition of good is barely a notch above drunk tank."

Dean shrugged but didn't bother deny it, and all conversational paths dried up once again.

Sam frowned. Other than small innocuous jibes or questions about where Jess and Kyle might be, Sam felt he didn't know how to talk to Dean. Despite Bobby's advice, he wanted to question him. He just didn't know where to begin. He'd had a few options lined up but seeing Dean there, seeing how guarded and distant and worn down he looked, Sam's questions all fizzled out before they even made it to his tongue, till there was only one that was left bouncing around in his brain.

What's wrong with you Dean?

The question was there, and he wished he could just ask it that simply, but he knew it would be a futile endeavour right then. Dean would smirk, or make a joke, or get irritated, or react in any one of a dozen other non-informative ways, but more importantly, Sam knew his brother would instantly simply shut him out. But it was so blatantly obvious to Sam that something wasn't right, he would have known that even without the earlier conversation with Bobby. A part of Sam knew that somewhere in the quagmire of whatever was wrong, there was blame that belonged solely to Sam. His part in this drama for the way he'd left things between Dean and himself. But whatever was wrong with Dean, it was more than just brotherly separation angst, and it was more than just post-hunt fatigue or mid-hunt anxiety. This was something deeper. It was there in his brother's eyes, a deadness, a transience, like looking into a pool which had once been steady and bright and teeming with life, now turned murky and muddied and unfathomably dark.

Sam looked away from him, suddenly not able to stand the sight of this half vacant half shrouded shadow that sat in place of where his once larger than life brother should be. He let his eyes scan the bar instead, tried to imagine the regular clientele. Tried to populate it with people who somehow all ended up being Jess. Despite Sam's own first impressions, he realised Jess would like it, especially the way it was now. She would see past the roughness to probably consider it homey. He smiled at the thought, then the smile died on his lips, because he wondered if she'd ever get to see it. If he'd ever get to watch as her eyes uncovered the details, lighting up at the oddities he was too dull to see, pointing out all the features he was too jaded to notice. He could imagine the words she'd use, the things she'd say, the way her head would tilt and her lips would quirk.

His heart tightened and expanded within a single beat.

He stamped the thoughts out like stubbing out cigarette butts; angrily, forcefully, entirely, till not even their smoke trails were left to rise and the ash was all swept away. He refused to think of her like that, refused to indulge the cancerous ache of her absence, because if he let those thoughts loose, they would spread like a tumour, a plague, and he was sure to completely break down in the onslaught. He reeled his mind back carefully, unpicking the knots that had gotten snagged on her, and putting that line of thought away till he was in control again.

"Did you ever come here with Dad?" he asked abruptly, the question leaving Sam's lips before he could stop himself. It was telling of the dire straits, he supposed, if the topic of their father was being thrown out by him as a safe option for conversation.

Dean hesitated a little, may have possibly even flinched imperceptibly at the mention of their father, but he covered up any lapse by downing more alcohol before shrugging.

"Once, maybe twice."

"Dad and other hunters," Sam shook his head at the thought. "I can't imagine it. Did you guys stay lon–"

"Stopped for a couple of hours Sam, that was it. He never liked crowds, you know that."

It felt as though Dean were determined to put up roadblocks at every turn, and it began grating on Sam a little more. Until, that was, he reminded himself that part of the reason these roads were so hard to traverse was because he'd left them behind a long time ago. He was tired of games, tired of lies and secrets, tired of feeling as though he were constantly on the verge of saying something explosive.

Mostly he was just tired.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and it was the first thing he'd said since he'd sat down that made Dean look right at him, even though Sam's eyes were moored dejectedly on the bottle in his hands right then.

"For what?" Dean asked cautiously and this time it was Sam's turn to shrug in response.

"I don't know. For leaving, maybe? Or I mean… for the way it all went down I guess," he shook his head, dragging a weary hand over an even wearier face, then huffed a humourless laugh. "You know I half thought you'd slam the door in my face the other night? Thought you'd tell me to get lost. Wouldn't have blamed you."

When Dean didn't respond, Sam finally looked up, surprised at the pained expression worn openly on the older Winchester's face.

"Sam," Dean began, eyes betraying indecision as he tried to respond to his brother's admission. Sam watched, mildly fascinated, having forgotten how openly emotive Dean could be when caught off guard. In that moment he wasn't sure which way Dean would land, whether he would lay the blame on Sam, thick and heavy as he had every right to, or whether he would dismiss the conversation entirely. But he surprised Sam with a level of openness Sam hadn't expected from him at all.

"Look, your leaving back then," he said, making eye only contact briefly before looking away. "I'm not gonna lie, a part of me kinda hated you for it, you know? But," he shrugged. "I don't know man, I guess after a while I was glad you got out."

"Yeah, I bet." Sam scoffed. "You used to hate having me tag along everywhere."

"Seriously?" Dean asked, giving him a look which left Sam feeling instantly reproached. "That really what you think?"

"No," Sam admitted. "But it wasn't about you Dean. Or us or whatever. My leaving I mean. It was Dad and me and… the life. It just… well you know how it was."

"Yeah, I know," Dean allowed. "But I also know you were as bad as each other, you and Dad."

"I wasn't the one who said don't ever come back."

"No, you were the one who left anyway."

"What was I supposed to do Dean? After he said that. What? Just stay? Keep pretending? Live the life he dictated and ignore everything else in the world around me? He made life unbearable with him."

"Maybe. But it wasn't all one sided, is all I'm saying."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning I seem to recall some pretty choice phrases coming outta your mouth too that night. And not just that night either. You can't lay the blame for how all it went down just on Dad."

"Still sticking up for him," Sam noted, the astringent, bitter aftertaste of age-old resentments irrepressible even despite the alcohol. Even despite all the years.

Dean stared at him silently for a moment, unnervingly calm, before finally speaking again.

"He wasn't a saint, I admit that. But you were no choir boy either Sam. I'm not defending Dad, but I'm sure as hell not gonna sit here, listening to you, and say you were all that innocent back then either. Like I said, as bad as each other."

Dean took a swig of beer and Sam slumped back in the seat. He hated these stupid arguments. He hated them more when he knew Dean was right.

"No," he agreed eventually. "No, you're right. I was as much to blame as him, I know that. I just wish I could have shown him, you know?"

Dean waited, but when it seemed Sam wasn't going to continue, he couldn't help asking for clarification. "Shown him what?"

"That I was okay. That it was worth it. That I made it worth it."

"He knew."

"I doubt that."

"He knew," Dean repeated. Sam raised a sceptical eyebrow at him and Dean continued. "He used to swing by every once in a while, check up on you. Make sure you were doing okay. So, he knew."

Sam was shocked.

"I never knew that," he admitted, the revelation being completely unexpected.

"Does it matter? He was proud of you. Why wouldn't he be? You did good."

"I wish he'd told me. I wish he'd talked to me. If he'd just–"

"Phone lines run both ways Sammy. You could've talked to him yourself. But like I said, it doesn't matter."

"I know. You're right, I know. I just… I just can't stop thinking about how I left things. I mean, maybe things could've been different somehow, you know? With me and Dad. With all of us. With everything. Maybe-"

"You wanna know what I think?" Dean said, cutting him off, then taking a long swig of beer before continuing. "I think there was no way on Earth you'd have had any of what you have now if you hadn't left. And I was there remember? He fought you as much as you fought him. Maybe you're right, maybe it could've gone differently. Maybe you could've handled it better. Maybe if Dad hadn't been so stubborn. Or maybe if you hadn't. Or maybe if the moon was purple or if leprechauns were real."

Sam scoffed. "Leprechauns aren't real?"

"What I'm saying is, who the hell cares? You got out, and you made it work, that's the main thing. Dad was proud of you. Hell! If it means anything, I'm proud of you. But what does it matter?"

"It matters."

"Why? You can't change it. And why would you want to? I mean, you got the most awesome kids in the world, a totally outta your league hot wife. You got a house that's like a figgin' Paris Hilton mansion, the job you always wanted. Other than what's happened now, you got it made. You're telling me there's even a small part of that that wasn't worth leaving this life for? And maybe you left on bad terms but so what? After so long, what difference does it even make now? Who the hell even cares?"

"I care."

"Well, that's your problem. You just gotta learn not to."

"So, that's your solution? To not care?"

"If it works."

"And does it?"

"What?"

"Work for you?"

Dean stared at him blankly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, whatever's going on with you. Is that how you deal? Not thinking about it, not caring? Drinking till you pass out? Having nightmares when you think no one sees you?"

"There's nothing going on with me," Dean snapped curtly, standing to leave.

"Dean," Sam said, reaching out a hand to halt his brother. But Dean simply shook his head, stepping out of reach.

"Look, you wanna keep talking about this touchy-feely crap, fine. Talk to Ellen. Talk to Jo. Hell, talk to Ash if you think it'll help. Just don't talk to me, okay?"

"Because you've got nothing to share?"

"Because it's pointless. The only thing we need to be thinking about right now is getting Jess and Kyle back. And we will. But none of this other crap you're dredging up, none of it's worth a damn."

"Dean, clearing the air–"

"The air's plenty clear. Hell, it's crystal. So, let it go."

"And do what instead? Huh? Sit here and watch you get drunk?"

"If that's what it takes then yeah, knock yourself out. Just stop with the woulda coulda crap. Coz if all you're thinking is what if's, then you're not thinking solutions. And if you're not thinking solutions, then don't bother thinking at all."

As Dean stalked away Sam slumped back into his seat, somehow feeling worse than when they'd started, somehow feeling even further removed from Dean.


tbc

I'll publish the next two chapters this week, they just need a bit of fine-tuning before they're ready. As always, thank you for reading and I hope all out there are well :-)


Long Live BRUCAS - You're right on the money as far as Sam goes, he so desperately wants to know everything! All in good time... Thank you for sticking with the story, I really appreciate it :-)

Kathy - I'm glad you're still enjoying this one. It's reassuring to hear that it's moving along OK and not dragging etc. And thank you for the review on the first story I wrote :-) You were one of the first people to comment on that one way back when, I appreciated your encouragement and support right from the get-go, so thank you :-)

MewWinx96 - You're welcome! and thank you for leaving a comment :-) I'm really glad you're enjoying it :-)