A Brother's Sacrifice

by ayosb2000

Completely AU. John really did want Dean to have a home and for Sam to go to school. At Sonny's, Dean saw the possibility of another life, but chose family. Sam is chafing under his father's thumb. An exploration of what might have happened if Dean stood up to his father and decided that normal and hunting could co-exist. A large re-write of a previous story I wrote years ago.

29. June 2002

A/N Thanks to my readers and I really appreciate all the new reviews! Big thanks as always to mak2018 for all the time she takes to help me with the story!

/

In the beginning there was God.

There was also His sister The Darkness, and while the heated sibling rivalry between the two deities might well have been the earliest foundation for God's eventual determination to be entertained by the trials and struggles between two brothers divinely pitted against each other, Her story isn't really otherwise relevant to the evolution down the ages to Sam and Dean Winchester.

Because a being with the limitless power of creation could sometimes have a need to expend His talents.

If for no other reason than to prove to His sister that Their existence could be marked by so much more than just themselves, and so God created the universe and within that universe a planet called Earth.

Well, not just one Earth but many of them, but again that's not the point.

He began by creating the first beasts. The Leviathans. Who were sadly such an unmitigated disaster considering their rarefied origins that He was eventually forced to also create Purgatory to seal them away before they could destroy everything else. They were immensely powerful, hungry, clever and poisonous creatures, more than willing to eat their own for pure enjoyment if not for sustenance, and who therefore posed a serious risk to the grand cosmic experiment. So before they could gulp down the entire petri dish of primordial creation, God locked them away in Purgatory where they could do no further harm.

But after a while, with only an equally powerful and disinterested sister for companionship, sometimes omnipotent and omniscient deities found Themselves needing something or someone to worship Them and bow down to Them. Because when you are a powerful, all knowing being it's also safe to say that you can have somewhat of an inflated ego that needed to be stroked.

So God created the archangels to fill this role.

The four archangels were God's true children.

The ones who were allowed to see Him and given access to His presence as He attempted a semblance of a paternal relationship with them. They were His firstborn, His special ones.

They were complex. The stuff of primordial creation.

Fierce and endowed with immense power.

Absolute.

Divinely engineered to be Heaven's most terrifying weapons.

And weapons were necessary, because it wasn't only God's ego that needed attention at the beginning of all things. The Darkness was enraged by Her brother's determination to engage in unfettered creation when She just wanted there to be the peace and solitude of nothingness. A much simpler deity, She didn't understand Her brother's need to have anything other than the two of them when it had always been enough for Her.

As quickly as He made worlds, She would destroy them and it wasn't too long before it became clear that She needed to be stopped because, like a petulant child, Her brother was tired of Her breaking His toys.

Her permanent demise wasn't something that could be allowed however.

Not only because She was genuinely loved by Her brother, but because She was the other half of Him.

Where He was Light, She was Dark. Where He was everything, She was nothingness. The balance between Them was necessary to maintain a cosmic harmony. The absence of which would otherwise upset the existence of...well...everything ever.

So She couldn't be killed, but She could be put somewhere that would render Her unable to continue to interfere with His plans.

And thus, the archangels rallied around their heavenly Father at his command and used their combined forces to imprison The Darkness. With God's favorite son, Lucifer, bearing the mark that would keep Her locked away forever.

After that showdown, and owing to the apparent success of the archangels, God decided to make more of a similar kind.

Lesser celestial beings, but still powerful and, what's more, blindly obedient and loyal to a fault whereas the archangels tended to be a little more headstrong.

The lower classes of angels worshiped their divine father and were true believers to His word. They served Heaven without question, following absolute rules regarding God's will and His plans on pure faith alone. Broken down into choirs and then into garrisons, they were each given a specific job to do and a role to play from positions in the lofty administration of Heaven itself all the way down to the most humble of the secretarial pool.

They followed God's commands and subverted any independent thought for themselves and always, always, upon pain of extermination, did as they were told.

In other words, they were perfect.

But it's easy to get bored with perfection after a while, especially when the real excitement comes with something that challenges.

So God decided to keep creating in the search for a more interesting specimen and in doing so He created the soul.

And thus man sparked into existence.

The creation of man with a soul that allowed for free will and expression that was much more colorful and entertaining than the porcelain perfection of the angels led to more bumps in the road as the deity tweaked and fine tuned His worlds. They were beautiful creatures, creative and talented, but also deeply flawed. Prone to fighting amongst each other and making terrible mistakes that quickly disappointed their creator even as he continued to be fascinated with them.

God's indulgent command to His angels to watch over and protect these wholly imperfect beings ruffled more than a few angel feathers, but as they were designed to obey Him, they did as they were told.

For the most part.

It didn't help that the mark that Lucifer bore was slowly bringing out the worst in God's favorite child who was throwing a truly biblical tantrum at being replaced in his Father's eyes by these inherently inferior mud monkeys. Leading him to commit the ultimate act of rebellion by twisting and warping the soul of one of the first humans Lilith and turning her into his own first demon. Followed quickly by another first, the actual devil's bargain when Lucifer manipulated Adam and Eve's eldest son Cain into taking on his cursed mark in exchange for saving the soul of his beloved brother Abel who was falling hard for the serpent archangel's tricks and cunning words.

For these transgressions against His will, God commanded that his eldest child Michael, the most loyal and obedient of the archangels and commander of the Heavenly Host, cast his own beloved brother down into a cage in Hell for eternity. Starting a chain reaction of events that would inevitably impact the lives of another set of brothers long, long, long into the future.

The theme was set, so spaketh The Lord.

The entirety of all His creations was always going to come down to a battle to the death between the loyal oldest son against the rebellious younger son. Starting with Michael and Lucifer, then to Cain and Abel, all the way down the line to Dean and Sam Winchester. The two human vessels who would be worn by the archangels to bring about the End of Days.

At least, that's what God's plan was.

Certainly it wasn't going to be easy. There were an infinite number of events that needed to take place in a very specific order to bring it all about. Bloodlines were to be carefully cultivated by the cherubim, a lower choir of angel whose sole job it was to play matchmaker to the humans, to ensure that the descendants of Cain and the descendants of Abel eventually mingled in exactly the right way to produce the specifically fated brothers.

It was God's preference for man, even long after He became irrevocably disappointed with mankind as a whole, as well as his desire to see them carry out His divine plan, that led to his vested interest in the capabilities and talents of the two vessels who would eventually serve their purpose in the ultimate Battle Royale. Because man had not been endowed with the same powers and talents as God's angelic children and the road the two vessels were destined to travel was not an easy one, they were clearly going to need some help to survive against other, less divine creatures.

One bloodline was destined to be the brains and the other the brawn. Once again, two sides of the same coin. Each gifted in similar lines of thought and execution in cultivating their descendants to protect God's world, only employing vastly different methods. It was in preparation for the time when the two lines would meet and fight, that God intended to give them each a little assistance.

He then commanded Michael to instruct the angel Virgil, the one who held the position as the Weapons Keeper of Heaven, to design a device of which a human would be capable to craft at the appropriate time in history. A weapon lethal to any other being with the obvious exception of God Himself and each of the four archangels. All other beings, including the rest of the Heavenly Host themselves, were to be susceptible to its power.

And because the angels obeyed their Father, and Virgil was advised that the recipients of the design were intended to be gun makers, he devised a very special gun.

Actually, two guns. One for each bloodline.

When the appropriate time in history came, the secrets for the creation of the guns would then be passed down to one member of each of the bloodlines. For this job, Michael was commanded to appoint an angel of the choir second only in power to the archangels themselves, the Seraphim. Few in number and rich in strength and conviction, the Seraphs were allowed to visit Earth at will during a time when few others were permitted.

Chosen for this most important job was the angel Akobel.

It would be his task to seek out the two chosen humans and instruct them in the assembly of the divine weapons that would eventually be passed down to the correct member of their bloodline. Until then, it would be the duty of the other members of the family to use them in the defense of humanity against creatures that were slowly becoming stronger.

Once again it's important to point out that mistakes were made in the early days of God's little experiment.

An unfortunate oversight in the creation of Purgatory was the unintentional birth of Eve. A primordial entity of the original ooze who had a passion for creation of her own. Over time she became the self anointed Mother of All the things she spawned in Purgatory, upon which she lavished a mother's love.

God of course considered her just another pet. A feral pet to be sure, but one that He felt an almost kinship to because of their shared interest in creation and parenting their broods of children. And because He was bored and liked the occasional challenge of a spanner in the works, He allowed her to find a way to slip some of her children through the cracks into Earth. These abominations although not of God's original plan, became another amusement for Him even though they were making things for His humans a little more ugly than He had planned them to be.

One thing He could not allow was a threat to His grand plan for the chosen vessels, so hence the guns.

Without question Akobel descended to the Earth to carry out his task but, unbeknownst to Michael, Akobel also had a secret love for God's favorite creation, humanity. He fulfilled his duty, of course, but when he was done, he used his higher rank to remain on Earth and become a guardian for a young woman who was a scholar and a mother and who had also garnered enough knowledge of angels to be able to summon one.

Sadly, Lily Sunder had managed to get herself mixed up with an angel who, unlike Akobel, had no love for humanity but did have an obsession with her.

The first human that Akobel blessed with the instructions for the powerful weapon was Samuel Colt. A hunter already, as well as a gun maker, Samuel Colt was a member of the bloodline that also included the Campbell family and, point-in-fact, upon his demise his invaluable journal found its way into the Campbell family archives even though the gun destined for them did not.

Colt built his gun, following the angel's instructions to the letter, and used it himself to kill many of the scourges of the Earth before he ultimately lost himself to old age, cheap whiskey and apathy and he decided to not be bothered to retrieve it from the saloon keeper Elkins after sending off the phoenix ash to the hunter from the future.

The second human that Akobel blessed was a Winchester.

Unfortunately, thanks to free will and happenstance, no one predicted the death of the blessed Winchester before his gun could be assembled under the right conditions. And no one predicted that his wife, who overheard the conversations her husband had with an angel before his death, would become so distraught and more than a little insane by her brush with the divine that she spent the remainder of her life building an inexplicable mansion of madness instead of ensuring that the gun was made.

As things often happen with estates, upon her death part of the design was found among her things by a Winchester cousin. A scholar who, although not inclined for manufacturing weaponry, did make sure to pass it to his son, while the other part of the design was lost.

That is, until the angels once again intervened and Henry Winchester ransacked the home of his sociopath former mentor.

Because even God's plans could go awry sometimes and needed a little help getting back on track.

/

He's having that weird dream again.

It's some kind of eclectic take on the scene in the original Wizard of Oz when Dorothy first encounters the inhabitants of Munchkinland. After all the gritty black and white of the first few minutes of the film, Munchkinland is a blinding technicolor fantasy that's almost headache inducing and that's what the aura of the dream looks like.

Too bright and too colorful and it's as unsettling as it is spectacular.

Except that the munchkins in his dream are not cheerfully singing about death by dropped house as they parade around their town. Instead, Sam's midgets It's Little People, Dean. You're not supposed to say midget anymore, are closer in resemblance to the hard drinking, bike riding, cowboy hat wearing dwarf of the happy place sequence in Happy Gilmore. Why Sam's subconscious would even conjure up this dream once, let alone repeatedly, is something Sam couldn't figure out, but at least it was better than the nightmare starring the killer clowns.

Whatever the reason was, he was in the middle of that particular dream when his sensory perception picked up on the heady floral scent of the fabric softener that Dean preferred infused on the fabric that was currently tickling Sam's nose.

It also meant that he was smiling as he slowly woke up.

Nothing had ever felt as good as climbing into his comfy bed in the house he loved when they rolled into Sioux Falls during the wee hours of Sunday morning, despite how long it took them to get there.

Dean had split up the twenty-six hour road trip by pulling over for the night on Friday after only driving for eight. Sam had been more than a little confused when his brother uncharacteristically exited after such a short time considering how much further they had to go, but as eager as Sam was to get back home, Dean clearly had a reason. Unwilling to question his brother's motivation, because maybe Dean really was tired after all or he just wanted to take it easy when they weren't in any particular hurry, Sam just kept quiet in the shotgun seat while Dean cruised through the streets like he knew exactly where he was going.

The problem with this unexpected pit stop is that it was in Elko, Nevada. The place where Sam had been ordered to meet up with his furious brother after he took off without permission to go to Palo Alto for his Stanford interview what seemed like a lifetime ago. Honestly Sam could have gone on forever without stepping another foot in a town that had seen him and his brother go through their worst fight up to that point. But either Dean didn't remember the significance of the town or he didn't care since he was grinning like a maniac and humming as he drove.

When they pulled into the parking lot of a casino Sam just shrugged, because he knew how much his brother liked to gamble. Although, considering that Vegas would have only been a three hour detour from their route, he didn't know why they didn't go there instead when Vegas had a ton of attractions and casinos that weren't like the much smaller and slightly worn one they were now facing as they sat in the car.

"Dean?" Sam couldn't help wondering when his brother made no move to get out.

Dean took a pause for a moment, a bittersweet smile on his face as he turned to his little brother.

"If you're gonna be staying at Stanford then we're also gonna travel this road a bunch of times over the next few years. Nothing but good memories in this town from now on, okay Sammy?"

And Sam had choked a little on the lump that rose up in his throat. Nodding his head shakily with a grateful smile on his face as his brother gave him an affectionate nudge and climbed out of the car.

They checked into a very nice double room with a large marble bath and shower that could accommodate even someone of Sam's height easily. Down in the restaurant they took full advantage of an enormous buffet that offered pretty much everything both of them wanted and Sam just shook his head fondly as he watched his brother devour the better part of an entire cow. Dean handed him a wad of cash along with a fake ID and the two of them spent the rest of the evening happily making a few bucks at the tables and losing a few on the slots and throwing back a few beers together before tumbling into their beds.

It was definitely an improvement on their last visit to the area.

Despite the small hangovers, they got on the road relatively early Saturday morning once his brother had cleared the hotel kitchen out of bacon and Dean cheerfully opened the Impala up on the highway and cut down the remaining eighteen hour trip to sixteen and half. Bringing them safely back to their little house just a little after 2 am. Sam had just stood in front of the home he loved for a couple of minutes, thrilled but a little nervous about going inside, until Dean flung and arm around his shoulders.

"Welcome home, little brother."

And Sam had felt so much weight lifted from his shoulders that he probably could have floated upstairs to his bedroom window and climbed in that way.

Still waking up from the strange dream Sam lay with his eyes closed and his body pleasantly melted into his achingly comforting and familiar mattress. His sheets with their pleasing floral scent that evoked so many happy memories of the first home they could call their own. He smiled as he slowly stretched and shifted, thinking that no bed was ever going to feel as good as this one did today. As a matter of fact, he was seriously questioning the need to get up at all.

"Breakfast!" came a loud summons from downstairs. "Rise and shine, Sammy!"

He couldn't help laughing. Nothing, not even his big brother's loud morning voice, was going to annoy him today. Today was the day that almost all was going to be made right in his world and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Opening his eyes he looked around his bedroom, taking in the sight of the space and various and sundry belongings he'd thought he'd been forced to say goodbye to a long time ago. Books on the shelves that were too heavy to carry in his duffel. The embossed pint glass souvenir from his prom. The silly Easter bunny that Dean had given him with all the filled eggs. The Albert Einstein bobblehead Dean insisted on buying him after they toured the Air & Space museum in DC.

He'd never been one to collect a lot of things and it warmed him to still have a few that he thought were lost to him.

All the wood furniture in his room smelled like it had been recently wiped down with the citrus cleaner that they used to clean the house, which was odd since Dean had been out with him in California for weeks, but he wasn't about to dwell on it because it was also comforting and familiar and just made him even happier. You couldn't pry his smile off with a crowbar as he climbed out of bed, grabbed his cellphone from the nightstand and shuffled to the bathroom.

The smell of bacon frying filled the house and he could hear Metallica playing in the kitchen as he used the toilet and splashed water on his face. Even the bathroom seemed to be equipped for his return with all of his favorite soaps, hair products and shaving essentials scattered around. All new in the box just waiting for him to come home and use them. He definitely wanted a long hot shower after so many hours on the road but his stomach was fairly insistent that he heed his brother's summons before Dean ate all the bacon in the house as well as the hotel.

A little more awake as he descended the stairs he began to notice a few changes since the day he left. The carpet in the living room was different, but having been told the story of the demon, that was to be expected. But there was also a new enormous flat screen TV that replaced their old, much smaller model and the walls had been painted a slightly different color. Some new artwork and framed photos decorated the walls and as he passed he could see that a little more work had been done to the half bathroom.

But the biggest change was to the kitchen. The minute Sam walked in he was startled by the shiny new stainless steel appliances that had replaced their small, relatively cheap ones. Dean was humming to Wherever I May Roam while he cooked pancakes on a new gas stove with six large burners and a griddle. There were new cabinets and a marble countertop installed to accommodate the bigger refrigerator, built-in microwave and dishwasher. As well as a small island that had a serving bowl of fruit salad sitting on top next to already filled smaller matching bowls along with a pitcher of orange juice and glasses.

"Wow!"

Sam's exclamation was loud enough to be heard over the music coming from a sleek sound system perched on a shelf next to the sink that Dean immediately lowered before turning around to greet him.

"Hey. How'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead," Sam said with a smile as he helped himself to some juice. "The kitchen looks awesome, man. Do I want to know what you had to do with the landlady to get her to agree to all this?"

Dean huffed a small laugh and turned away for a minute to flip the pancakes over before filling two plates with bacon and a mound of scrambled eggs.

"It wasn't up to her after I bought the house."

Sam choked on the juice he was drinking and began to cough so much that his eyes immediately started to water. Dean cocked an eyebrow and shook his head with a small smirk on his face as he put the plates on the island in front of two of the three bar stools next to it and reached over to give Sam's back a cursory thump.

"You okay?"

Wiping juice and spit splatter off of his chin Sam nodded and he coughed a couple of more times and grabbed a napkin from the island to do a better job of cleaning himself.

"You bought the house?"

Dean nodded and shrugged and turned back to the stove to plate the pancakes, not seeing the look of incredulity on his brother's face.

"You bought the house," Sam stated, rather than asked. "This house? You bought it?"

Now Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled syrup and butter from the refrigerator. "Am I speaking a language you're not understanding? Yes. I bought this house."

Still in shock, Sam slumped down to sit on one of the bar stools as Dean refilled his juice glass and then slid some pancakes on each plate. Logically, Sam knew that Dean now had the finances to buy a house, but the actual idea of his brother putting down permanent roots wasn't something he ever expected Dean to do. He'd always had this mental image of his brother living his entire life on the road. Traveling from one motel to the next, fighting the good fight, until one day he was gone.

It was Sam who was supposed to buy a house and live a normal life.

"I bought this thing too," Dean said as he pointed to an espresso maker at the end of the counter. "For your girly coffee drinks. But you're going to have to figure out how to use it and what beans you want to buy. I'm sticking with my plain black manly coffee, thanks."

With that he reached behind him and snagged a full traditional coffee pot and poured two cups, handing one to Sam. Making sure that all the burners were off, he grabbed creamer from the fridge and then joined Sam at the island bar.

"Now eat."

Sam picked up a fork and stabbed a piece of melon from his fruit bowl to munch on but his eyes kept wandering around the newly decorated kitchen. It looked completely different and there was a part of him that was a little melancholy about that fact because it served as just another reminder of how long he'd been gone. Especially since the long farmhouse table was missing and in it's place was a pretty oak set with only four chairs around a matching oval table. Of course the larger table wouldn't have fit in the room now with the addition of the admittedly nice island, but it still felt weird to not have it.

"I didn't want it in here anymore," Dean muttered as he saw the direction his brother was looking. "I couldn't look at it."

Sam's heart clenched, because it hadn't really occurred to him that Dean wouldn't want a reminder of all the happy study group dinners that were held at that table once the other students would no longer be stopping by after Sam's departure. Immediately he felt ashamed of himself for all of the times he'd been resentful of his brother's popularity with Sam's friends. Because after a lifetime of walking in Dean Winchester's shadow, sometimes it was hard to have a more outgoing sibling, but Dean himself didn't really have friends and surely he must have missed having the other kids around after making such an effort to welcome them.

But he was wrong because that wasn't his brother's hangup about the table.

"After that day with you and Dad...I just...couldn't." Dean shrugged sadly and covered his feelings by shoveling a large forkful of pancake in his mouth while Sam deflated even further.

To this day, Sam still felt he deserved most of what John had given him bent over that table. Not all of it, but enough to convince him that he'd paid a lot of dues for getting Dean hurt and lying about his plans to go to school. But it also must have been hard for his brother to have to live here in the aftermath. Which really made him even more surprised that Dean had actually wanted to buy the house in the first place when he could have started fresh somewhere else.

Shaking off the thought, he was determined to keep his smile, so he attacked his breakfast plate with gusto because nothing tasted better right now than pancakes made by his brother in their old house. Although a few bites in, it made him wonder where the fresh food came from.

"Did you go shopping this morning?"

"No." Dean shook his head and got up to pour another cup of coffee. "Henry brought Mrs. Butters up yesterday and she cleaned the house and stocked the fridge for us. She insisted on it when I told her we were coming home today. Although we're expected to head out to Lebanon in a couple of days because they are both dying to meet you and I'm not stupid enough to piss her off."

"Can she do that?" Sam asked, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. "Just move around from place to place? She's not tied to the bunker somehow?"

"I'm not going to be the one to tell her where she can or can't go." Dean recoiled with a horrified look on his face as he refilled Sam's empty juice glass again.

"She can kill you with the power of her mind, Sammy. If she wants to leave the bunker to 'tidy up' for us, as she said, I'm not gonna try and stop her. Man, wait until she gets a load of you, geek boy with the hair and the dimples. She's gonna spoil the shit out of you."

Sam's eyebrows shot up his forehead as he nervously contemplated what being spoiled by a wood nymph entailed. Dean had been pretty enthused about her cooking and fussing over him but she also sounded like she could be a little scary. He kept that thought in reserve while he scooped another bowl of the delicious fruit salad, almost dropping the spoon on the counter when he was startled by his phone buzzing. Picking it up from where it lay next to his plate, Sam beamed when he saw that he had a text message from his friend Michael.

"Who's that?" Dean asked as he slurped his way through another cup of coffee.

"Michael." Sam typed furiously, loving the more streamlined keyboard of the Treo. "I told him I was coming home this weekend."

Sam's phone buzzed a few more times while Dean puttered around and began to clean up the breakfast mess. He was thinking that a nap was sounding pretty good after that long drive, but since he'd been keeping Sam on a regular eating schedule it meant he was on one too and he'd woken up too early, starving and unable to go back to sleep.

"So how grounded am I?"

Looking over at his little brother Dean's still morning-fogged mind was having trouble making sense of the kid's words. Maybe he needed more caffeine or maybe it was just time to go back to bed.

"Come again?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "Well, we're home now, right? So how grounded am I?"

Slowly Dean started to recall the off-handed comment he'd made weeks earlier on that terrible day when Sam had been so distraught. It was meant to be a distraction, not a mandate. Obviously he hadn't meant it literally, as much as he wanted to keep the kid tied to him at all times.

But Sam was looking at him all serious-like.

Except for the small twinkle in his eye that maybe implied that Dean wasn't being taken too seriously after all, but more like Sam was willing to compromise his autonomy a little for the sake of his big brother's mental health. So he decided to go with it, because the idea of being kept in the loop about Sam's activities over the summer was more than a little appealing after all the months of worry.

"You're confined to any state that has either me, Dad or Henry in it," he growled, putting some mock sternness in his voice that made his brother break out the full smile. "I just finished driving your ass back here and I'm not chasing you more than a few hundred miles if you go running off again. I'm too damn tired."

"Fair enough." Sam laughed softly and texted again before he peeked back up at Dean hopefully from under his long bangs. "So, if you're tired, what are the chances you'll let me borrow the Impala later? Some of my friends from Holy Rosary are meeting up at 50's for burgers."

"Um, let me see. Zero. That's your chance." Dean scoffed and walked over to the counter. "Almost a year of living with granola munching hippies and pot heads and you think you can still handle my ride? Forget it. Take your own damn car."

Sam's face fell in the blink of an eye and the bright smile he'd been lighting up the kitchen with disappeared as he looked away. Dean immediately softened from the obvious distress that his little brother was radiating. Joking was probably not the best way to tell the kid his beloved Camaro was safe and secure at Bobby's place.

"Hey."

Sam forced himself to look back up at the summons as Dean reached into a drawer and pulled out a jingling object that he threw across the island. His reflexes kicked in without thought and he found himself holding a very familiar key ring.

His key ring.

The one holding keys that started his car and opened the front door to this house. That had his coffee house membership tag and the braided loop that Alex had made when she felt like crafting one night.

The one with the engraved silver bullet.

You and Me Against the World

This simple key ring had almost stopped him from going to Stanford. When the memories of how much his brother meant to him over the years were battling against Sam's certainty that he needed to get out of The Life before he was the reason that same brother ended up hurt or worse protecting him. When he had placed it on the coffee table that terrible, terrible day, that was the moment he started to crack inside. A wound so deep that it never even came close to scabbing over until Dean showed up in his dorm the night of his birthday.

He'd been so certain that his brother would have taken the first opportunity to ditch the car that Sam so callously threw back in his face that it never occurred to him it would still be around when he came home. That even Dean, crazy, unpredictable, martyrish Dean would have finally found his line about how much crap he was going to take from his ungrateful, thoughtless little brother.

Every time Sam had ridden in one of his friends' fancy cars at school or borrowed Brady's bicycle to get to work he'd missed Cherry almost as much as he missed his family. Seeing her keys again was something he never let himself think about in even his dizziest daydreams.

Giving this key ring up had broken him. Getting it back was breaking him all over again.

He clutched it tightly in his hand, so tight that the keys dug into his skin and threatened to make his palm and fingers bleed. He breathed in and out slowly and deeply in a mighty battle to keep the tears at bay and couldn't bear to glance over and see the pitying look on his brother's face that he was sure was there. Overwhelmed, he dropped back down on the bar stool and hid behind his hair as he dashed a hand across his eyes.

"Sammy."

Dean truly felt bad about handling something so painful between them so glibly. He should have known better with his emo kid. If the sensitive topic of Cherry had him feeling all the feelings, he couldn't imagine what was running through his little brother's mind right now. Really, Dean had been expecting a mile wide smile and a demand to be driven over to the salvage yard immediately so he could jump behind the wheel, but that's not how Sam was reacting.

Realizing he'd sorely misjudged the situation when Sam didn't look like he was getting it together any time soon, Dean sighed and crossed over to the other side of the island.

"C'mere."

He pulled Sam to him and hugged him close. Sam's long arms wrapped around him like a gorilla and with his seat on the stool leveling the height between them, Sam could bury his head in the crook of his big brother's neck as he struggled to compose himself. He might have even succeeded if he didn't suddenly realize that his face was pressed into the collarbone that Dean broke last summer and had to recuperate from without Sam's help and that's when the tears started to leak out.

Dean wasn't about to admit that he might have been, not happy, because there wasn't anything happy about a distraught little brother, but at least a little more comfortable in his skin being able to soothe an upset Sam when the kid wasn't towering over him. It felt more like he was truly back in the big brother role when he could physically surround Sammy and protect him.

"Okay, kiddo. It's okay. We're okay."

Sam wasn't okay.

In fact, okay was a point far off in the distance that Sam wasn't reaching any time soon. As happy, truly-madly-deeply-happy, as he was about coming home again, it was really messing him up inside. A teeny tiny little voice in his head had almost managed to convince him that he just might find his Camaro still parked in the driveway after his brother told him that he'd kept the house. But when they arrived and she wasn't there, Sam felt a nanosecond of sharp pain from her absence until his higher brain took over and reminded him to not be so foolish.

But now? Getting her keys back?

Sam needed a damn minute.

Dean gave him a damn minute.

Another young man Dean's age might have balked at calmly standing in his kitchen and holding a little brother in the middle of a freak out, but then again Sam had never only just been Dean's little brother so screw anyone that thought it was weird.

Patting Sam's back gently, Dean kicked himself for not just coming out and telling the kid that his car was still his. Honestly, with so much else going on, he hadn't actually given much thought to assuring Sam that nothing was ever going to change how much he was loved. Not even a pretty angry and emotionally charged argument and months of separation were going to make Dean give up on their brotherhood.

"I've been keeping her garaged over at Bobby's place so no one could mess with her when I'm not home."

Sam huffed a relieved little sob into Dean's neck and then finally was able to pull back enough that his big brother could see the mighty effort it was taking him to compose himself.

"I thought you would have just sold her by now."

The words were soft and watery as Sam rubbed a hand down his face and forced himself to man up because he was too old to keep flipping out like a toddler. Dean pretended not to notice the red eyes as he grabbed a bottle of Sam's favorite mineral water from the fridge and nudged it in his brother's direction.

"In what world would I build my little brother a car and not keep it safe for him?"

Sam tried to mask a flinch by twisting off the cap to the water before taking a big swallow in an effort to do something besides sniffle. He exhaled a shaky little breath and Dean gave him a quick affectionate pat on the shoulder before he began to load their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

"Why don't you go jump in the shower and then we can head over to the salvage yard, okay? You should say hi to Bobby anyway and he's here this week."

"Yeah, okay."

A shower sounded like heaven right now to Sam and so did a few moments to himself. Giving his brother the tiniest of smiles he turned and headed back upstairs. He went into the bathroom and started running the water for his shower, putting down the toilet lid and sitting on it while he waited for the water to warm up. Fiddling with the key ring still in his hand he was suddenly overcome with the realization that with the car came his photo of his mother with hers. Something he'd thought was lost to him forever.

It wasn't a re-write of Winchester Family history that allowed him to feel so gratefully nostalgic about being home again.

Sam accepted and acknowledged that the majority of his life had been living rough in cheap motels and eating cheaper food. Usually while his father and then his brother were out fighting the good fight while he was left behind. Alone and scared on his own.

And wasn't that the main contributing factor to Sam's determination to get out of this life in the first place? Because to be honest, it wasn't just the hunting that pushed him away. He could do the hunting. Actually, he was even getting pretty good at it when his head was in the game. It was living every moment in fear of the day when the two most important people in his life walked out their door and never came back.

Years of forced independence at an age when children should still have a full time caretaker, Sam had mentally begun to separate himself from his family just out of self preservation because he knew even then that he wouldn't do well if he lost them for good. It made him stronger. Harder in a sense that turned into determination that ultimately he'd walk away when they were still alive and learn to live with their absence by choice and not by inevitability.

It wasn't supposed to be hard. He was a pretty lonely and messed up kid most of the time already and college seemed to be the way out of the rut.

But then Dean went and made them a home, beyond all logical reason and explanation, and Sam had loved it. Was willing to sacrifice his loftier dreams in favor of a plan where he could stay with them and get an education too.

That is when Sam had finally understood the traditional concept of a physical home.

But then Dean had gotten hurt protecting Sam and Sam got scared and he ran.

Just like he always did when he got upset and life spun out of control.

When the steam started to fog up the mirror, he tugged off his sleep clothes and got under the spray. Dean had made sure that the house had good water pressure and Sam loved their shower. It soothed sore muscles and warmed up cold skin after an early morning run during a snowy February. Grabbing a washcloth he squirted a generous amount of the Neutrogena body wash he preferred and scrubbed himself clean. More relaxed than he had been at first, but still a lot rougher with his skin than he had been before learning about his demon lover.

So what exactly did Sam's little exodus get him?

Dean still hunted, and from their time together sharing a hotel room in Palo Alto, Sam caught at least two new scars on his brother's body that he didn't have the story behind since he wasn't there anymore to see what caused them. So Sam may not have been around to be a liability to his brother, but he hadn't been an asset to him either. And Sam himself hadn't escaped his time away unscathed as his now practically rubbed raw skin could attest.

As much as it pained him to admit, Dean had been right all along. They were stronger as a family.

Sam wasn't going to change his mind about going back to school, but nothing was going to keep him away from his brother's life ever again.

Not even Dad.

So it was also a foregone conclusion that Sam was going to have to make peace with his father if that was even possible.

For all of his brother's protestations about their dad being afraid for Sam's safety and worrying about him, Dean hadn't been there that day at the bus stop when John had been deadly serious about Sam staying gone. The memory of the sincerity on his father's face had stopped Sam from dialing his brother's number more than once. In his defense, Dad had always treated his boys differently. John and Dean had a bond that Sam had never been able to breach since he wouldn't fall in line about the hunting. So their lives had been a lot of Dean following orders and Sam arguing.

Who was to say that their father would even want Sam back in his life?

But that was a problem for another day. Right now, all Sam wanted to do was see his girl again. To sit in her sporty driver's seat and just be happy for a while. He quickly rinsed himself off and climbed out, wrapping a towel around his waist and then padding into his room to get dressed before heading back downstairs.

Dean was sitting on the sofa with the new enormous television on, and by the logo at the bottom of the screen the upgrades on the cable for the house now included the premium channels.

"I was about to send in the Coast Guard," Dean snarked as he clicked the remote and turned the TV off.

"Hilarious." Sam rolled his eyes, but it was with a smile on his face. His keys were burning a hole in his pocket and he was eager to get going.

They'd arrived in Sioux Falls in the dark of night but now, in the bright summer sunshine, Sam watched out the window as the familiar sights whizzed past them. A few times he'd contemplated the idea of making a visit back here on his own. His plans had always included going past their house even if the idea of seeing someone else living there also made him incredibly sad.

"You're thinking pretty loud over there."

Sam turned and saw his brother trying to suppress a worried face as he glanced from the road to Sam and back again. He didn't want Dean to worry when Sam was nothing but happy right now.

"Just a lot of good memories," he smiled and then shrugged. "I missed this place, you know?"

"Yeah," Dean said wistfully. "I know. I don't get back here nearly as much as I'd like."

They drove for a few more minutes, cruising into the downtown area before they'd get on the road on the southern side that went to the salvage yard. Sam saw people buzzing about like a normal weekend afternoon and he beamed when he recognized a couple of familiar faces coming out of the coffee house.

"Hey, there's Taylor and what-his-name," Dean said as they both returned the wave the two kids sent towards the familiar Impala.

"Jeff," Sam supplied helpfully as his smile got wider. "They're going to be at 50's later too. Hey. D'you wanna come? I'm sure they'd be happy to see you."

"Nah." Dean shook his head but his brother could see that he was pleased by the invitation. Sam's earlier thought was right. His brother did miss the other study group kids.

"You go do your thing. I promised Bobby I'd help him put an engine in a rebuild, and since I'm going to be there anyway, might as well do it today."

Sam frowned for a moment but didn't push, and just a few minutes later they were pulling up the long driveway towards Bobby's place. Dean pulled into the normal parking spot and Sam's eyes skipped around looking for his beautiful girl.

"She's in the covered bay. I wanted her protected from the weather."

Seeing Sam so anxious to get to his car, something Dean could totally relate to, he chuckled and nudged the kid towards the door.

"Go on. Bobby will understand. Come inside when you're done."

That was all the permission Sam needed to throw open the squeaky door and sprint over into the covered bay. Dean considered griping about the door being left open but he couldn't make himself when his little brother looked so happy.

Cherry was parked in pride of place right in the center of the bay. She looked like she'd just been freshly washed and waxed too and Sam sucked in a deep breath because he'd forgotten just how beautiful she was in person. Slowly he made his way over and lovingly stroked her paint for just a moment before he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. She fit him like the most perfect glove as his heart leaped at the sight of his mother's photo.

"Hey Mom."

Kissing the tips of his index and middle fingers he placed them on the photo before he put his keys in the ignition and started her up. She roared to life, her powerful engine purring, and as he leaned back in the seat he closed his eyes and knew that he truly was home.

/

Swearing to himself, Caleb made his way through the corridors of the bunker towards Henry's lab on the upper level.

It wasn't that he had anything really against the man exactly in principle. With the exception of his mildly annoying and pompous attitude, most likely from the enormous stick up his ass and of which no one at the bunker was spared, Henry wasn't really a bad guy.

He certainly knew his shit, and in all his years of hunting Caleb had never seen anything as impressive as the way Henry had magically cleared their path when they were all cleaning out that horror show of an invisible mansion. Under ordinary circumstances he would be clamoring for tips and tricks from someone who could definitely teach him a thing or twenty that would be beneficial in a tight spot on the job.

Maybe it had something to do with Caleb personally having trouble wrapping his melon around the idea that this guy, who only looked a couple of years older than he did himself, was actually the father of the guy that Caleb considered his own father figure. It was odd, really, looking at Henry's young face and seeing very clear evidence of a familial relationship to John. Henry did in fact have a father's attitude towards his son that even a blind man could see and to no one's surprise it rankled John to no end.

As long as Caleb had known John Winchester, the older man was always the one in charge. Always the one giving the orders. To now have someone who tended to treat John like he was still a child on occasion was more than a little odd.

The whole dynamic between the older Winchesters was just unsettling and it definitely took some getting used to.

Caleb also appreciated everything that Henry had done and was willing to do to make the lives of hunters much easier. It was a tough gig after all, all monster guts and no glory, and every one of them could use all the help they could get. And the results of having the Men of Letters' vast resources at their disposal were already undeniable, because now it was easy to dispatch the closest hunters to a case when you knew exactly what you were up against before any death or similar tragedy could hit the news.

The armory itself was a whole other level of awesomeness and there were many days when he fully felt the great privilege it was to be the one entrusted with its safekeeping. Of course there was the occasional lament when he allowed himself to think of all the lives that could have been saved if the place hadn't been metaphorically boarded up for decades, but it wasn't something he could afford to dwell on.

The past was the past and nothing was going to change that.

Henry more or less kept to himself as much as he reasonably could. Although you were usually aware that he was somewhere in the bunker's depths, it wasn't an obtrusive presence on the whole. The man generally only came out for meal or two or when his son or grandson were about. Caleb would make himself scarce during these times because that was family business and he understood the need for them all to get to know one another without company around.

Let's face it, when your long lost father or grandfather traveled through time with a demon on his ass and then gave you the keys to the Magic Kingdom, there were going to be unresolved issues.

So very rarely did Caleb have a chance to interact with Henry one-on-one and he certainly had never been summoned to the man's personal work space like he was today.

In the most technical of terms, Henry was his employer, so he probably shouldn't have felt the minute wave of resentment of being ordered to report for duty, but it didn't stop him being the tiniest bit irritated. On arriving at the lab's door he waited a moment and schooled his features so he wasn't scowling and then knocked, waiting for the invitation to enter.

Henry was perched at his desk in the middle of what looked to be a mystical chem lab. It also appeared to house some of the bigger computer components and Caleb had been made aware of the fact that Henry was quite the tech guy in his time and was, in fact, responsible for helping to create some of the gadgets in the bunker, the radar table included.

Having known the Winchesters for years and never doubting how intelligent they all were, Caleb had no trouble believing it.

"Thank you for joining me, Caleb."

Caleb simply nodded because Henry was nothing if not unfailingly polite, although the younger man couldn't help to think to himself that Henry might be a little more of a happier man if he just learned to unclench on occasion.

"I know you are quite an expert in the field of firearms," Henry stated rather than asked. "I was wondering if you recognized this."

Henry held out a piece of antique looking parchment paper with an obvious invitation to take it, so Caleb did.

"Careful," Henry said quietly. "It's very old."

Holding the paper gingerly Caleb took a good close look as his forehead scrunched up in concentration because he couldn't be seeing what he thought he was.

"This looks like the prototype for the Winchester 1883 revolver."

Henry nodded approvingly, impressed with the younger man's knowledge.

"Very good."

"What are all these symbols on the page? Is that...is that Enochian?"

Caleb looked up for an answer to his question and saw Henry having an internal struggle with how to phrase the answer. Apparently he just decided to come out with it.

"Yes it is. It's the instructions for a blessing for the gun. A very special gun."

Glancing back at the page, Caleb let out a low whistle.

"I mean, I've heard stories," he said as he gave the design a closer look. "But I've always thought it was a Colt."

Henry shrugged. "Well, this one is a Winchester. My question is, if Hunter Corp provides you with all the necessary equipment, could you make this?"

Suddenly everything clicked and Caleb smiled a broad, enthusiastic grin.

"You bet your ass I can."

/

Dean was on the couch cleaning his gun and watching Spy Game on HBO when there was a knock on the door.

It was pretty late in the evening, definitely too late for company but also too early for it to be his father coming in from Blue Earth who wouldn't have knocked anyway.

Sammy was still out with his friends after wheedling Dean into staying in Sioux Falls for a few extra days when Henry was already chomping at the bit to have them come down to the bunker. Dean couldn't blame the kid. His little brother had become close with the members of his study group and they were all home from college now and enjoying their time together.

He also would have just used his own key to get in so Dean grabbed the spare pistol he kept strapped to the bottom of his coffee table and strode over to see who it was. A quick glance through the peephole showed a clearly blitzed little brother grinning like a lunatic and being held mostly up by his much smaller friend Michael.

Dean chuckled to himself and unlocked the door before opening it only to be immediately assaulted by his baby brother throwing himself at him.

"Lucy I'm home!"

Sam was giggling at his own joke, such a happy little drunk as he draped himself around Dean who gripped him tightly when it seemed like any minute now Gigantor was going to face plant on the floor. Michael grimaced apologetically as Dean rolled his eyes and managed to maneuver himself under Sammy's shoulder to hold him up better.

"He had a little too much at the bonfire," Michael informed Dean as Sam clung to him like an enormous affectionate spider monkey. "I drove his car back. Here are his keys."

Michael bent over to put Sam's key ring on the coffee table, not even flinching when he saw the gun and cleaning materials because Dean had been caught doing that more than once during Sam's school year. Besides, most people in South Dakota carried.

"Thanks, man," Dean said gratefully as he gripped Sam by a belt loop when the kid's legs threatened to give out. "Let me just get Baby Rat Pack here settled upstairs and I'll drive you home."

Shaking his head, Michael just smiled and gave Sam's shoulder a quick pat as he walked towards the door.

"Don't worry about it. I've got someone waiting for me outside. I'll see you guys later."

Once Michael was gone, Dean started to walk them towards the stairs before Sam got too heavy to get into bed.

"Alright, Sasquatch. You can do it. Right foot, left foot."

With absolutely no fine motor skills to boast of Sam swayed precariously, practically knocking them both over as he started to climb up the stairs. The journey was slow going, especially when Sam suddenly became convinced that Dean had a pan of his favorite chicken and broccoli casserole in the fridge and he tried to turn around to head back down for some.

"There's none down there, Sammy. I promise." Dean wrangled the kid until he was headed in the right direction again while Sam whined.

"But I really want some and...and it's so good with the...the rice and and the cheese and..."

And then Sam stopped short and Dean could literally see the green pallor wash over his brother's face as the kid grimaced. He knew that look and it didn't promise anything fun. Getting a better hold on Sam, Dean practically hoisted him up the last few stairs and towards the bathroom.

"I don't feel so good."

Stumbling through the bathroom door, Dean hauled Sam to the toilet and lifted the lid and the seat as his little brother crumpled to his knees in front of it and let go like a volcano erupting. Dean recoiled from the sight and smell of the mess and moved back until he was standing in the threshold, just close enough to make sure the kid didn't hurt himself. Sam heaved a few more times and Dean caught him muttering an occasional lament about ugh tequila and s'mores as he hung his head over the bowl.

After a few minutes of Sam hacking up everything but his spleen he finally started trying to climb to his feet. Dean came back over from where he'd been standing sentry, first flushing the toilet before pulling Sam's arm across his shoulders with one hand and gripping the kid around the waist with the other.

"C'mon you little lush. Beddy-bye time for Sammys."

Sam groaned but he tried to at least help his brother navigate them towards Sam's room.

"You're bossy," he scowled as they stumbled down the hall before reaching up to not-so-gently pat Dean on the head with a drunken chuckle. "And short."

Rolling his eyes Dean got Sam to his bed and lowered the kid down to sit. While Sam was unsuccessfully trying to kick off his sneakers Dean grabbed the small wastebasket next to the dresser and put it next to the bed.

"If you gotta hurl again, use this."

Sam grunted a rudimentary assent as he flopped onto his back and got his long legs up on the mattress with Dean's help. Dean was untying Sam's Pumas when he heard the front door open.

"Dean? Sammy?"

At the sound of his father's voice Sam's eyes flew open and he startled to struggle like a trapped rabbit and almost kicked his brother in the face.

"Don't tell Dad!" Sam pleaded drunkenly as he tried to jerk his feet away. "I'm gonna be in so much trouble."

His bloodshot eyes were wild and glazed over as Dean managed to get his shoes off without taking a foot to the head. Firmly grabbing Sam by the shoulders he wrestled the kid under his blankets.

"Down in a minute," Dean called out to his father as he pressed a restraining hand to stop Sam from from climbing back out of the bed. "Dad's not gonna be mad," he assured his intoxicated sibling. "Just close your eyes, Sammy, and try to sleep it off, okay?"

"Promise?" Sam looked up at him like he was ten years old again as Dean got him settled a little more comfortably.

"Yeah, kiddo. I promise."

Comforted by his big brother's words Sam rolled over and buried his face into the pillow he was hugging and closed his eyes. Dean gave him one more quick check and then shut the light off and left the door ajar so he could hear if Sam needed him again before heading back downstairs.

"You made good time," he greeted his father as he hugged him.

John held him for a minute before he pulled away, giving his son a quick affectionate pat on the back and moving over to where he'd set his go-bag on the coffee table. "Not a lot of traffic this time of night."

"D'you eat? I've got some of Mrs. Butters' lasagna in the fridge."

Smiling, John shook his head as he pulled a new Kershaw Storm II out his bag and handed it to his son. "No thanks, kiddo. I'm good. This is the blade Jim's guy did the custom work on for you."

Dean took it and admired the engraving with a smile as he balanced it in his hand. "Awesome. Thanks."

Henry had a method that would kill a ghoul if a hunter was pinned down and unable to get off a head shot. Now thanks to this little knife and the Latin carved into it, Dean could gut one up close and personal.

"So where's your brother?"

John was attempting to look casual but he wasn't pulling it off in front of his firstborn who was fluent in every facial tic and tell his father possessed. Clearly he was nervous about seeing his younger son again when Sam would be in his right mind this time and not incoherent like he'd been at the hospital.

"Oh you mean Bluto Blutarsky up there?" Dean snorted as he cast a quick glance up at the ceiling. "He was out partying a little too hard with his friends from school. He's passed out in his bed."

John chuckled as he closed up his bag and set it on the floor out of the way. He had more than the usual number of weapons inside, having gotten blades for the others at the bunker as well as Dean and one for Sam too. Although Dean had already made it clear that Sam wasn't going to be forced to hunt this summer and John wasn't ready to rock the boat and push the issue so early.

"You wanna go up and check on him?"

Dean's question stilled John's movements because yes he did want to see his boy. And maybe it would be easier right now with Sam out for the count because John wanted to put off the inevitable fight that was surely brewing between him and his younger son as long as possible.

"Yeah. I probably should."

John rubbed the scruff on his face and turned around to face his firstborn. Dean desperately wanted his family back together and John did too, especially now. He'd been on edge ever since his little Q&A session with Sammy's demon lover and there was no longer any question in his mind about something big on the horizon. Now was the time for John to keep his kids where they were as safe as possible.

He trudged up the stairs as quietly as his boots would allow, trepidation slowing his gait as he made his way down the hallway. At Sam's door he gently pushed it open enough to allow him to pass. Sam was just a lump in the bed with wild hair all askew on his pillow as John walked over and heard a small groan.

"Deeee, the room's spinnin'" Sam mumbled into his pillow. "Make it stop."

John's heart clenched from the sound of his baby's voice. He sat down softly on the edge of Sammy's bed and reached over to push the hair out of the boy's face and massage the back of his head a little. Sam hummed into his pillow like a contented cat with his eyes closed.

"Mmm...feels nice. M'head hurts."

"You'll feel better in the morning, Sammy," John murmured. "Get some sleep now."

Sam's forehead wrinkled at the sound of his father's voice and he squinted in the dark to try and get as good of a look at the person next to him as much as his booze impaired brain would let him.

"Dad? S'it really you?"

Sam was trying to lift his head but his body wasn't cooperating and his father kept up with his ministrations on relieving some of his head pain so he quit struggling for the moment and let him.

"Shhhh. Yeah, it's really me."

A couple of cylinders in Sam's mind were still firing, even with the tequila riding shotgun, and he frowned as a measure of panic started to grip him when he remembered he wasn't supposed to be here.

"C'n I stay? Please?"

The shaky whispered question stabbed John in the chest. Especially since he'd been raking himself over the coals for being the one that pushed his son away when he should have been keeping him close. Fear over what had happened to Dean on that hunt along with the unknown about the demon's intentions towards Sam had John making desperate terrible decisions at the time. They had cost him almost a year of Sam's life with them and now his baby was pleading to be allowed to remain in his own home where it would have always been safest for him.

John felt like he was going to be sick.

"Yeah, kiddo," he choked out in a trembling voice. "Of course you can."

Even drunk and almost unconscious a wave of relief was obvious on his son's face. Sam wriggled around until his head was pillowed in his father's lap like he used to when they called a cease fire after one of their nastier fights and made up. With his eyes still closed, Sam gripped the denim fabric of John's right knee as he let his father card his fingers through his hair.

"Missed you."

John's eyes welled with tears and his chest ached as he kept one hand tangled in Sam's hair and the other rubbing his back, needing to physically touch and comfort his son for his own sake as well as Sam's.

"I missed you too, Sammy. So much."

He stayed there holding his boy long after Sam had thoroughly succumbed to sleep. It wasn't until Dean strolled by to check on them both that he relinquished his hold on his child and got Sam re-situated in his bed more comfortably. John lingered at the door for a moment just watching his younger son sleep until he turned and headed back downstairs.

The next morning Dean was already in the kitchen drinking coffee when Sam, pale faced and thoroughly rumpled, stumbled in with a groan. He dropped down on one of the bar stools and stared at the coffee pot like he was willing it to fly over to him.

"You look like hammered crap." Dean snorted as his little brother flipped him the bird. Taking pity on the kid he got up to pour Sam a cup that he shoved in his brother's grabby hands before getting creamer out of the fridge. "What the hell did you drink last night?"

"Everything."

The bluntness of the statement had the older brother laughing as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin that he slid across the island.

"I bet. Didn't I teach you to share with others?"

Sam gave him the bitchiest of bitch faces as he curled his hands around his mug and slowly sipped at the hot brew. Dean also grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and put it next to Sam who was squinting from the bright sunshine streaming through the window.

"Hydrate."

Scowling Sam relinquished his coffee for the water but soon found himself downing the entire bottle. It was exactly what he needed. He also noticed that his brother wasn't cooking anything so he got up see if there was dry cereal he could munch on to line his rumbling stomach and help soak up some of the booze.

"Dad's picking up breakfast. He should be back in few."

His brother's words stopped Sam in his tracks and he froze for a minute, vaguely remembering that he'd seen his father in his room last night. He wasn't entirely sure it had actually been him or not, just like at the hospital.

"Dad's in town?" Sam's voice was shaky and caused his brother to sigh deeply.

"Yeah, he got in last night, remember? He was at Jim's and thought we could all travel down to the bunker together."

Sam slowly sunk back down on his bar stool, his emotions flying all over the place at the idea of actually seeing his father again in person after all this time. Although technically he had apparently seen him twice already, it wasn't quite the same as being fully conscious when it happened. There were still a lot of unresolved issues between the two of them and their first face-to-face encounter promised to be awkward at the least.

As if Sam's thoughts could summon his father, the man himself was walking through the door with take-out bags from the neighborhood diner in his hands. He strode into the kitchen and put them down on the island as he gave Sam a soft smile.

"Hi Sam."

"Hey Dad." Sam nervously glanced at him for a quick second before turning away to fiddle with the aspirin bottle.

John sighed deeply and began to unload the styrofoam containers from the bags as Dean grabbed utensils from a drawer. Taking the one labeled veggie he put it in front of Sam before giving the others to himself and Dean.

"Did you hear back from Ash?" Dean tried to break the tension that was clogging the room as he dug into his meat lover's omelet.

"Yeah," John answered as he poured a cup of coffee while glancing at Sam who was popping some aspirin in his mouth. "I was right. There were demon signs in Wyoming."

Dean stopped chewing as he and his father shared a knowing look with each other. Really, he didn't even need to ask the question, but he did anyway.

"His?"

"Yeah." John kept his eldest son's gaze while the boy processed the implications of what he'd just confirmed. "After I get you two to the bunker I'm heading out there."

On his side of the island Sam was frowning from the look on the faces of his father and brother. Whatever it was, both of them were nervous.

"Who are you talking about?"

Exchanging another look John nodded at Dean's unspoken question.

"The demon that killed Mom," Dean said with eyes full of hatred. "The one that started all this."

At this announcement Sam sucked in a harsh breath and reflexively twisted the silver bracelet he still wore faithfully even after he got his anti-possession tattoo. Considering how many times since finding out about not-Amanda he had let himself ponder if it had saved him from anything that she had planned for him, he was pretty sure he was never going to take it off.

And now? Finding out that a demon had killed his mother, after all these years of not knowing, he was rocked to the core.

"Mom was killed by a demon?" Sam was startled to hear his own voice ask the question since his head was still spinning. "How do you know? Why? Who is he?"

Across the bar John sighed deeply and mulled it over before deciding that it was time. "Azazel. He's a Prince of Hell. The demon that possessed your professor is one of his loyalists."

Sam's eyes went wide as his head spun and he began to shake with emotion. Anger and fear warring for top spot as he looked from his father to his brother and back again.

"She was working for the thing that killed Mom? In a fire in my nursery. Is that why she came for me? Is this all my fault?"

"No, Sammy."

"No!"

Both John and Dean immediately refuted the very idea that Sam was at all responsible for what had happened to Mary. Especially since the boy looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Nothing is your fault, kiddo," John soothed. "Evil doesn't need a reason." And John needed to believe that. He had to believe that.

"Dad's right, Sammy." Dean came over and put a hand on Sam's vibrating shoulder as his little brother raked his hand through his hair. "Don't even think like that."

Sam took a moment to process, forcing his analytical mind to comprehend what he'd just learned. It had always helped him to deal with the crazy when he could dissect a situation.

"So why now?" he asked incredulously, not really believing their protestations. "After all this time? I mean, demons are pretty rare right? Why haven't they come for me before?"

"It knows I'm close," John said quietly. "It knows I'm gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to Hell. Actually kill it."

"How?" Dean's forehead wrinkled. As far as he knew, they hadn't found anything that could kill a prince yet.

"I'm working on that," his father answered with a small enigmatic smile. "But first I'm heading to Wyoming to check things out."

"Let us come with you," Sam insisted, feeling the need to do something, anything, to get back at the things that had violated him so badly. "We'll help."

John shook his head firmly, wanting his kids nowhere near this thing. "No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don't want you caught in a crossfire. I don't want you hurt."

"Dad, you don't have to worry about us," Sam insisted, looking over to his brother for support. Dean hated to be sidelined too.

"Of course I do," John frowned at his son's statement. "I'm your father."

From the pained look on Sam's face, John backed down a little because he hadn't been much of a father to his son this past year as far as Sam would be concerned. Right now his son was blaming himself for his own mother's death and while John knew that Sam was the catalyst for the events surrounding Mary's horrible murder, it didn't make anything the boy's fault. He needed to make sure Sam understood that before his emotions had him doing something foolish.

But before they did anything else the two of them needed to make up so Sam didn't feel the need to run from his family again where he could be exposed to more danger.

"Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

Sam swallowed hard and looked at his father warily. "Yes, sir."

"It's good to see you again," John said softly, a small smile on his face. "It's been a long time."

Nodding slightly as he forced back the waves of pain and loneliness, Sam agreed as he felt tears threatening.

"Too long."

It took a minute as father and son regarded the other. Each one hesitant to make the first move. Across the room Dean waited with baited breath, silently praying that one of them just take the initiative already before he lost his mind. Sam flinched and John began to outstretch one hand and the next thing anyone knew the two of them were crossing the room and in each other's arms.

The new height difference didn't temper their reunion but it did serve as a reminder of how things had changed since they had last done this. While Sam had definitely taken over the lead the last time they'd hugged the bare inch itself hadn't been that noticeable then the way more of them were now. But it also didn't matter much at the moment either. Taller or shorter, John's presence wasn't just physical as far as his boys were concerned.

He would always be bigger and stronger just because he was Dad.

Sam buried his head into the sturdy flannel shoulder of his father and drew from the strength he had always found there. While he had no doubt that sometime soon John would find a way to push his buttons and they'd be back at each other's throats, right now all he wanted to do was hug his dad and be hugged back and reassured that he was still loved. That all the rest of it - school and fights and demons and even time traveling grandfathers weren't going to be enough to break their bond at the end of the day.

John held his boy tight as his eyes filled with tears and he clung to Sam desperately, as if just by his will alone he could keep his baby safe from everything that had taken an unholy interest in him. Their embrace said the words neither one of them could say out loud. It was love and forgiveness, passionate and determined, driven by all of the arguments and uncertainty of the other's place in their lives. John had a crippling fear for and, more than he would care to admit, of his son and he'd go down swinging without hesitation before he allowed the darkness following his child to take him.

And for Sam, as much as his father hurt him and angered him, he also knew that he unconditionally loved him and needed him even when he couldn't admit that to himself. That it hadn't only been Dean's absence in his life that flipped his world so badly on its axis. His father who had disappointed him often and ordered him around always and disciplined him harshly and sometimes unfairly, was also the one who loved him and fought for him and did what he had to do to raise him right and helped shape Sam into the person he was today.

The giant hole in Sam's heart that had been bleeding like a faucet all year in California had been mostly stitched together by Dean's arrival, but there had been one stubborn leak that was still trickling until Sam was welcomed back in his father's arms again. Only now did he feel he could truly heal.

All too soon for both of them, they mutually pulled apart and stepped back because they could have easily stayed in the embrace for hours just soaking up the presence of the other after such a long estrangement but neither one was about to admit that yet.

Across the island Dean was struggling emotionally just as much as the other members of his small family, an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders to see the two of them reconciled just like they should be. This was what was important to him most of all. Not the discovery of his grandfather, or the family money or even the batcave. Nothing compared to having his two favorite people in the world right in front of him, safe and healthy and not at each other's throats for once.

John rubbed a hand down his face to brush away a stray tear and collect himself before he crumbled completely.

"Boys, finish your breakfast. I want to be on the road in thirty."

He was rewarded with a simultaneous yes, sir as his sons both forced themselves to shake off the cathartic reunion and do as they were told. Dean poured him a cup of coffee as Sam opened the lid of his breakfast container and gave John the smallest and sweetest of smiles on seeing that his dad remembered his food preferences before picking up a fork and digging in.

They ate in a mostly silent contentment, broken up only by snippets of conversation that steered far clear of the touchier topics that could have dominated their meal until Sam, unable to hold on any longer, disappeared upstairs to climb in the shower and finally allowed himself to break down in anxious relief.

Less than half an hour later they were speeding down the highway towards Lebanon. John led in his new Sierra while the boys followed behind in the Impala. Sam would have liked to have taken his own car after having her back so briefly but he wasn't in any shape to drive an almost six hour trip what with the massive hangover and the emotional gauntlet he was running. Being in the shotgun seat of his brother's car was exactly where he needed to be at the moment and besides, Dean had already promised him that they would be back home by the weekend, and every weekend after for that matter, regardless of the hunting schedule.

Which was something that Sam was still trying to wrap his head around.

The schedule.

As if monsters could be dealt with in an orderly and streamlined manner. Which was apparently possible now that the hunters were organized on a fairly efficient network. Sam had been right when he'd noticed the down trend in supernatural related events going on simply because they were being handled much more quickly when precious moments didn't need to be wasted figuring out the finer details that the bunker's magical warning system supplied.

Dean had already made it clear to everyone that he would be unavailable on the weekends until Sam was back in school. Of course, Sam was free to do as he pleased, although Dean doubted that he would be insisting on a weekly return to Sioux Falls. Especially since the big brother was sure that once the boy found all the goodies in the bunker's archives he probably wouldn't be pulled out of there for love nor money until fall approached and he had to leave. Sam may talk a good game about how much he hated the hunting life, but it was the constant moving and the bloody death of it all and nothing to do with the research which the boy loved despite his claims to the contrary.

Sammy was going to step one foot in the bunker and lose his mind. Of that, Dean was sure.

They made a pit stop in Monroe, Nebraska to hit the head and grab some snacks and coffee. Sam's stomach still wasn't doing very well and Dean didn't want to ruin his appetite for whatever amazing creation Mrs. Butters was planning for dinner, but he needed his road food and Sammy needed more water as well as bananas and crackers. John commiserated with his son's hangover when he saw the boy leaning woefully against the passenger door in the parking lot of the Gas-N-Sip but he still walked over to the Impala to give Sam a good scolding for not taking better care of himself if he was going to indulge so heavily.

Bristling but determined to not rise to the bait, Sam endured the dressing down and gave the appropriate yes, sir and no, sir where required until Dean came out of the store and threw his father a cautionary look that had John backing down and climbing into his truck to continue the journey.

"You okay?" Dean threw his brother the bag with the hangover remedies in it that Sam tore into a little more viciously than he probably would have.

Sam huffed and cracked open a water bottle. "Yeah, sure. Things never change with him, do they."

Starting the car, Dean pulled out after his father's truck and got back on the highway. It had only been a few hours and things were already starting again.

"You know, Dad just cares about you, Sammy. He's been worried for months, so cut him a little slack."

Sam looked wholly unconvinced as he turned away towards the window and sipped at his water. Dean was determined to halt whatever was brewing in its tracks before it could get ugly because things always did when his father and brother decided to butt heads. Their little family had enough on their plates at the moment and they needed to maintain a united front.

"You know, even when you two weren't talking... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe."

His brother's carefully chosen and pointed words got Sam's attention again and he turned to give Dean a disbelieving look. Because although he had already suspected as much himself, his brother hadn't come right out and confirmed it before now and Sam, to be honest, was still a little too insecure to take it on faith alone.

"Why didn't you tell me any of that?"

Dean sighed and shook his head, his heart heavy for his brother's sadness and feelings of inadequacy but also for his father who never got enough credit for anything he did for his younger son.

"Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone."

Sam flinched at the reminder that he'd never gone through with any attempt to contact his brother during those long months. No matter how many times he came close to it, he'd never had the guts to actually dial Dean's number.

"I mean, we knew you called other people easily enough," Dean continued, unable to mask the hurt in his voice. "Hell, that's how we would check on you. Every night in the courtyard with your mysterious ten o'clock phone calls. Which, by the way, you seemed to have stopped. Why is that?"

His heart started to beat rapidly in his chest as Sam was confronted with his saddest secret. From Dean's tone it was clear that his brother was upset and to be honest, so was Sam. It wasn't enough that his family had been watching him from afar when he'd been aching for them? Now he knew they were doing it when he was at his most vulnerable and struggling to get through the day by fantasizing conversations with the brother he missed like an amputated limb.

How did he reconcile the idea that they had been so close and yet had chosen to remain hidden in the shadows when their appearance would have meant everything to him? Would Dean even try to understand that Sam had done what he'd needed to do to remain strong and sane when he was cast adrift by his separation from his family?

"Because I've been with you."

"What?" Dean scowled as he tried to make sense out of Sam's response. Part angry and part offended. "Was there some reason you think I woulda tried to stop you from talking to whoever it was that ranked high enough on your important people list that they got to talk to you every day when I hadn't heard from you in months?"

"No, Dean." Sam's voice was decidedly frustrated as he raked his fingers through his hair. "I didn't need the calls anymore because you were the one I was talking to."

Dean's forehead scrunched up in confusion as he struggled to make sense of his brother's statement. It took him a minute of glancing between the road and Sam's sorrowful and earnest eyes to finally make the connection and his stomach dropped.

"Sammy..."

"I told you," Sam continued sadly. "I told you that you were the one I could always go to. The one I needed to talk to and share everything going on in my life with. I couldn't just stop doing that."

Sam's eyes pleaded with his brother to understand and Dean felt sick over how bereft the kid looked. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought that Sam's animated calls would have been to dead air. Especially when Dean himself was practically close enough to the kid to touch him if he'd only actually dialed and let his big brother know he missed him.

"Then why didn't you just call me?" Dean was shaking his head back and forth trying hard to understand Sam's reasoning. "Instead of pretending to. Did you think I wouldn't pick up? Because I always will, kiddo."

"I wanted to," Sam assured him. "Every day I wanted to. Some days I even came close but I always chickened out." He shrugged and averted his eyes, taking a minute before continuing.

"At first it was because I thought you'd be too mad to pick up the phone because of what I'd said and done and I couldn't have handled that because I was mad at me too. Then I couldn't because I knew if you asked me to come home I would have and never looked back and I couldn't do that either. And then, I guess I was hurt that you weren't calling me so I guess I just decided you were done with me."

He could see that Dean was gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, but his brother's face was giving nothing away.

"But it didn't stop me from needing to talk to you, so I just...did. And it helped." He shrugged. "A little. It took away some of the loneliness when I would have drowned in it because I convinced myself that if you wanted to talk to me you would reach out to me. And you didn't and I guess I just assumed that you couldn't forgive me for walking out after getting you almost killed. And you shouldn't forgive me for that, Dean. Ever."

Dean shook his head in annoyance, unable to get over all that unnecessary separation.

"Me getting hurt wasn't your fault, Sammy."

"It was," Sam insisted. "You were protecting me and when that happened I knew I had to go because if I wasn't around to mess things up you wouldn't have to protect me anymore."

"You might as well ask for the sun to stop shining, kiddo. Protecting you? It's always been my job. Hell, it's who I am."

Dean's words were so final and absolute that they brought Sam up short. Of course he'd always known that about his brother, but it was one thing to know in your heart and another thing to hear the words said out loud. Only the lucky few got to be the recipients of such unconditional love and devotion from a sibling, and Sam had almost thrown that away forever. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said sincerely. "I'm so sorry about everything."

Dean sighed and turned back to the road. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

He glanced quickly back at Sam who was thoroughly wallowing in his misery and he forced out a derisive snort. "Sorry that you're a giant now, that is. Otherwise I'd be putting you over my knee and smacking some sense into your dumb ass."

"Oh yeah?" Sam scoffed "I'd like to see you try, shortie."

Shrugging, Dean turned his attention back to the road.

"I'm your big brother, Sammy. Whether it's having your back on a hunt, or making sure you eat a decent meal or kicking your ass if I have to. It's all part of watching out for you. And I always will."

Sam's eyes softened from his brother's words and he could feel a part of his mind settling over having finally gotten everything out in the open. Dean deserved to know that he wasn't forgotten about while Sam was away. That his little brother thought about him and missed him every single day they were apart.

"Thanks for that," he said quietly, receiving a short nod of acknowledgment in return.

The rest of the trip was relatively quiet with the two brothers each mired in their own thoughts. Dean had always relied on his time behind the wheel to sort out whatever was plaguing him and Sam was letting the Impala's familiar rumble soothe his trepidation over their destination. His brother seemed sure that the bunker would amaze him and he was probably right considering everything he'd already heard. But it didn't mean he wasn't nervous about meeting his long lost grandfather and the wood nymph that apparently lived there.

Thankfully Dean seemed to be prepared for the yelp Sam couldn't suppress when it looked like they were driving straight into a line of trees.

His brother didn't flinch behind the wheel at all as they drove through a hazy mist and into a camouflaged retracting door that led into a tunnel that did in fact make Sam think of every Batman movie and comic he had ever seen. Dean easily navigated the slight twists and turns until they were pulling through another retracting door and into a cavernous inside garage.

At that moment he realized that Dean was absolutely right about the bunker.

Sam had only just arrived in the garage and he was already blown away and he didn't even like cars all that much when it wasn't his own Camaro.

They got out of the Impala and descended a set of stairs into a long gray tiled hallway with several closed doors. Sam followed his brother who confidently strode through the turns as they walked towards the faint sound of their father's voice. Having been in the lead and then just pulled up the driveway as opposed to the longer route to the garage, John arrived a couple of minutes before they did and was already in the crow's nest talking to Caleb. Both of the older men turned towards the brothers as Dean led Sam up a small set of stairs and over to the radar table.

"Sam!" Caleb walked over and gave him a handshake and then a quick hug. "It's good to see you again. You've grown like a weed, kid."

"Hey, Caleb."

Sam smiled at the hunter and returned the hug before looking curiously around the room with the banks of equipment lining the walls and the imposing wrought iron staircase. The table itself had no lights blinking on the map facade which, by what Sam understood, was a good thing.

He could see sigils etched into the crown molding all around the room and even recognized a few from ones at their house, but others looked pretty ancient and his interest was peaked over what they were. While the others were talking among themselves he wandered over to an entryway to a connected room and stopped short when he saw the shelves lined with books that even from a distance looked impressive.

"Son of a bitch."

The profanity inspired by what he was looking at was muttered mostly to himself, but he'd forgotten that there might be others around who possessed much keener hearing than the average human.

"Oh my! Language, young man."

Turning, Sam saw a portly woman with neatly pinned curls, wearing a ruffled apron over her dress. She was carrying a plate of still oven-warm chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. It wasn't hard to guess her identity.

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized sincerely. "Mrs. Butters, right?"

She was clearly affronted as she regarded him critically. Sam truly did feel badly, because his brother had warned him about her aversion to swearing, and he didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with her.

"It won't happen again," he promised, using every watt of the puppy dog eyes he could manage.

"I should think not," she snapped. "You should always conduct yourself like a gentleman if you plan to become a Man of Letters yourself one day, Samuel."

Sam dipped his head slightly, sufficiently chastised. "Yes, ma'am."

His demeanor seemed to appease her and she nodded, satisfied, and then handed him the glass and held out the plate for him.

"I thought you might be hungry after your trip. You should have some of these before your brother gobbles them all down."

Her words were sharp but she threw Dean an affectionate look anyway, clearly fond of him regardless of his rakish behavior. Sam didn't want to piss her off any more than he already had so he took the milk and one of the cookies even though he didn't really want them.

"Thank you, ma'am. They look delicious."

Now she smiled and he breathed an internal sigh of relief as he watched her go over with the plate to his brother whose eyes lit up like a toddler's.

"Dean has her wrapped around his finger."

Sam turned quickly and saw a man in a sharply pressed white shirt and tie and tailored dress pants. He wasn't sure why he'd expected his grandfather to be an older man and not the good looking barely-into-his-thirties one that was now assessing him. Of course it would make sense that Henry was still biologically young, but it was going to take him a minute to equate this person as the father of his own father who was already a decade plus older.

"You're Samuel," Henry stated matter-of-factly. "I would have recognized you anywhere."

"It's Sam," Sam caught himself saying reflexively before realizing he'd been rude. "I mean yes. Um, yes, sir. I am."

Henry chuckled softly and the sound put his nervous grandson a little more at ease. "I'm so happy to meet you finally."

"Yeah, me too," Sam stuttered, still getting over the shock of Henry's appearance. "Um, what do I call you?"

The notion of calling this man Grandpa was a little foreign now that they had met, although Sam would do it if he was told to. Dean had referred to him as Henry and as Grandpa both, but the Grandpa usually came as part of a sarcastic comment and not necessarily an appellation.

"Whatever makes you comfortable." Henry shrugged with a smile as he watched Sam's eyes wander over to one of the book shelves.

"Is that the Key of Solomon?"

Nodding, Henry walked over to the shelf and extracted the grimoire and placed it on one of the reading tables. Sam joined him, discarding the milk and cookie without a second thought as he stared at the rare book enraptured.

"It's the real one," Henry boasted proudly. "Of course there are good quality copies floating around. Your Mr. Singer has one, for instance, but this is the real deal."

He opened it up to the first page and with a look invited his grandson to take a peek. Sam didn't need a second invitation as he dropped down into a chair and reverently pulled the book towards him and dug right in.

The pride was clear on Henry's face as John and Dean came up behind him smiling. Dean's mouth was full of cookie that he managed to not spit out when he checked his watch.

"I told you. Less than ten minutes. We've been here for exactly eight."

John chuckled and shook his head as he watched his son lose himself among the pages. "Just make sure he surfaces by dinner time. I've got some things to catch up on before then."

He nodded a greeting to Henry that was almost warm before he walked away. There hadn't been a repeat of John calling him Pop since that troubled night, but at least he wasn't being confrontational all the time either. Henry would take what he could get as long as it was an improvement.

"How are you, Dean?" Henry turned to his other grandson with a smile. "We've really missed you around here these last few weeks."

Dean shrugged, in a fairly decent mood for once now that his kid was home where he belonged. "Aces. Anything going on I should get up to speed on?"

Although he was sure that the question was meant innocently, Henry couldn't help feeling a little guilty that he was hiding a potentially important project from his grandson, but he wanted to share everything with all of them together.

"Not especially," he lied, unconvincingly from the look of skepticism on his grandson's face. "Well, just more research on the princes of course." The truth.

Dean wasn't fooled, but he let the lie go. You had to pick your battles in this life and as long as Henry wasn't involved in something that would get his little brother hurt, the man had a right to his privacy.

"Dean!" Sam looked up at him excitedly and pushed the book closer to his brother's line of sight. "So get this. I bet we could draw this on the trunk of the Impala and turn it into a mobile curse box."

"And why would I want to do that again?" Dean griped but he took a closer look at what Sam was showing him. Eventually agreeing that it was an interesting idea as long as the markings were inside the trunk.

Henry watched his grandsons bicker animatedly back and forth with a large smile on his face. Sam was clearly an impressively bright boy and certainly born to be a Man of Letters. Not that he was giving up on Dean, but his eldest grandchild was definitely more comfortable carrying a gun than holding a book. Regardless of how obvious Dean's high intelligence was to him after getting to know the young man better.

Once Sam had his fill of the Key of Solomon, Henry persuaded him to take a tour of the bunker. Dean excused himself to call that nice girl he'd mentioned a few times and Henry was happy to play guide as he showed his grandson all the wonders of the family's ancient organization. It was fair to say that he was trying to impress the boy and thankfully it seemed to be working. Sam was inquisitive and already quite knowledgeable about numerous topics and the two of them passed a full hour together in stimulating conversation until Mrs. Butters summoned them all to dinner.

Caleb excused himself to work in the armory, but the four Winchester men sat down at a table in the library where Mrs. Butters had laid out a beautiful dinner of pot roast with all the trimmings. As Dean and John both suspected, Sam was already hooked on the Men of Letters organization. And while John was pleased because it might mean that his wayward son would stay put in what was probably the safest place on Earth, Dean was frowning because he didn't want his little brother to be pressured into giving up his own dreams so quickly.

Would he like it if Sam decided that his future was as a scholar for Henry's book club? Hell yeah, if that's what the kid really wanted. But unless it was Sam's decision, and his decision alone, it wasn't going to be okay for the kid to have his arm twisted by old lore books and cool gadgets.

After dinner, Henry brought over a carafe of the good whisky and four glasses that he filled and slid towards each of them. Out of habit, Sam glanced up at his father for permission, because technically he was still under-aged regardless of last night's frolics. Being back with his family made him forget temporarily that he'd been on his own for the better part of a year but even if it hadn't, Sam's ears were still ringing from the lecture he'd gotten earlier in the day.

John hesitated for a minute. Not because he didn't approve of his son having hard alcohol in principle, but more because Sam had already had a rough day of being hungover and the kid looked ready to topple over.

"One."

Dad didn't look like he was kidding around and it was as good a compromise as they were going to come to in Sam's opinion. Nodding, he pulled his glass towards him, glad that it didn't have to be a fight that would embarrass him in front of his new grandfather who he'd already begun to like.

"So what's this big announcement?"

John looked up at Henry expectantly, having already been informed by his father that he had some important business to discuss after dinner. Although he'd tried to get Henry to spill right away, because John didn't have time in his life for more drama, his father was determined that it would wait until the whole family was together. Which was the only reason John was still sitting here patiently instead of doing the work that was important to him.

Sighing, because it was just like his son to want to get right to the point without any kind of finesse, Henry tapped a file sitting on the table in front of him.

"I believe you have heard of the Colt, have you not, Son?"

That got John's attention pretty quickly.

"Do you know where it is?" John sat up straighter and pushed his whisky glass aside as he prepared to get into his truck immediately and drive for days if that's what it took.

Dean and Sam looked at each other in confusion and then to their suddenly anxious father.

"What's the Colt?" Sam asked, finally turning to Henry because he seemed to be the one with the answers.

"No," Henry shook his head at his son. "I don't know where the Colt is."

He watched John deflate and then quickly grow angry. His son opened his mouth to speak, obviously to give his father a scathing tirade for getting his hopes up, but Henry held up a hand and opened the file and slid it across the table to John.

"But I would like to introduce you to the Winchester."