A/N: Thank you all my lovely readers, especially the ones who took the time, and liked this enouph to follow. You guys are amazing! CatstielWinchespurr: Thank you! That is some high praise! I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far. Thank you for your repeated reviews, I very much appreciate them. Here is chapter 5. :)

To any Sherlockians, or others who can figure it out: I have hidden a bit of an in-joke in this chapter. See if you can find it. I love you people!

Note: I introduced Castiel last chapter. Any angels in this fic, unless specifically noted otherwise, are in their natural state, without vessels. Just thought I'd mention in case there was any confusion.

I have a request to make. If anyone thinks of any canon backstory, told after season five, either in flashbacks, or one-liners, please PM me, as I have not seen past that point, and I am determined to keep this true to canon. Similarly, if I ever get anything wrong, including a line from a flashback scene or someone being OOC, please let me know so I can fix it. I will also take requests, as long as they don't conflict with canon. Thank you.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.


Chapter 5


John poured a bucket of cold water on his windshield and started to scrape the ice off the glass. Bobby was in the shed, getting some extra snow chains for the tires. The roads were finally clear, and today they were going out on the hunt. John couldn't deny that he was excited. A real ghost, and he was going to see it! He had not mentioned his feelings to Bobby. It would merely further convince the man that he was an overeager amateur who had no business going hunting. This was his chance to prove Bobby wrong. He stepped back, surveying his work. It wasn't the best he had ever done, but he would be able to drive. Now to deal with Dean.

He found him inside, standing on a chair washing Sam's bottle in the kitchen sink and watching the preparations with interest. He walked over to him, "Hey Dean."

His son glanced around at him, his face lighting up when he realized it was his father, "Daddy!" he dropped the bottle in the water and flung his wet arms around John's neck. John stepped back a little in surprise, "Yeah, sport. Um, Uncle Bobby and I are going out, maybe even for a couple of days. Can you hold down the fort until we get back?" Dean dropped his arms and stared at him, something akin to disappointment in his eyes, "Yeah, Daddy. Of course I can."

"I wouldn't ask except you're a big boy, and I'm sure you can do a good job." He saw Dean prick up a little at the complement, then his son turned back to his work.

"Sammy's hungry. I need to fix his bottle," he said, his voice almost a monotone. John patted his shoulder and left the room. Bobby was leaning on the doorway, and stopped him on his way out, "What was that?"

John glanced at him tiredly, "That was what needed to be done. Now are we going or not?" Bobby watched him as he started out towards his car, then walked over to Dean. He put a hand on his shoulder, and the boy flinched away. He refused to take no for an answer, however, and took the bottle from his hands, setting it on the counter and turning Dean around to look him in the eye, "Look, kid. I won't claim I'm an expert in anything, and I sure as hell don't know what to do with children, but uh, it's going to be okay. Your dad's going through a hard time right now, but he'll get over it. And in the meantime, I want you to know I'm here. You may not trust me, but... if you need help, or a shoulder to lean on, you come to me. Do you understand?" Dean stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded. Bobby pulled him into a hug, and Dean awkwardly draped his arms on his shoulders "Good. Now I don't want to see you hiding from me anymore, you hear?" Dean buried his face in Bobby's neck. A horn sounded outside, and Bobby pulled away, ruffling Dean's hair, "Well, kid, sounds like someone's getting impatient. I'll see you soon, okay?" Dean nodded, smiling slightly, and Bobby started towards the doorway, "Good boy."

He stopped by the Impala and leaned on the driver's window, "Are you sure about this?"

John stared at him, "Sure about what?"

"Leaving your kids alone in my house. Dean's four, and I have an arsenal in the basement."

"He's smart. He knows better than to go messing around with guns. They're all unloaded anyway. You're worried about nothing." Bobby scoffed, shaking his head. The man was truly unbelievable. Still, he supposed it was really John's call, they were his kids after all, "Okay, if you're sure." He got in his salvaged car and drove off, checking his mirrors to make certain John was following him.


Racheville, they discovered, was a tiny place in the middle of nowhere, one of those last holdouts of small town America. One motel, almost empty, was all there was for accommodations. People hurried through the snow, desperate to get out of the freezing temperatures. John and Bobby reserved a room, then unloaded the cars and rushed inside.

The room was relatively nice. It was done in a woodland theme, complete with pillars carved like totem poles and a stuffed bear in the corner. The beds had forest green comforters, and the metal screen separating the beds from the living area had crude pine tree cutouts. Bobby shrugged and set his duffels on the far bed, "Well, no place like home, I guess. Better get unpacked, we have a long day tomorrow."


Sam wailed. Where was his person? He was almost always there, especially when Sam woke up, hungry and scared, and now he was very scared. He had had another dream. They came frequently, these dreams, and he hated them. This time he had been all alone in a room. Well, not quite alone. There was a woman, with dark hair and a knowing smirk, but there was something about her... He knew she wasn't a nice woman, and she wanted him to do something very bad. He wasn't sure what, but he remembered the horrible pain and loneliness, the grief so strong he felt he couldn't breathe, and it terrified him. He wanted his person. Where was Dean?

A shaggy blond head appeared over him, quietly shushing in an attempt to soothe him. His person was here! He sat up, holding out his arms and whimpering in a plea to be held, and Dean picked him up, bouncing him gently until his sobs dissolved into happy coos and giggles, the dream forgotten.

Dean wondered what his dad and Uncle Bobby were doing. Why had they left? Oh well. Daddy had promised he would come back, so had Uncle Bobby, so he supposed they would. He frowned. They had better. He was running out of diapers and formula, and today he had opened the fridge to find nothing but beer and a little ham, unsliced. He worried about Sam to. Why did he cry all the time? He didn't used to. Not before the fire. He wanted to ask Daddy about it, but he suspected his question would not be welcome. Daddy was far too busy lately to worry about such matters. That was why he needed Dean's help. So that Sam would be safe and taken care of, and he could think about more important things. Maybe he would ask Uncle Bobby.

He walked carefully downstairs and set Sam on the floor, then moved a little ways away and knelt down, his arms outstretched, and called his brother. This had been their latest project. Sam sat for a few seconds, staring at him, then cautiously fell to all fours and started in his direction. His progress was slow, and he frequently lost his footing, but it was a beginning, and Dean couldn't have been happier. He scooped Sam into his arms, cheering, "Great job, Sammy! That's even farther then yesterday! I'm so proud of you!" Sam squealed happily, grasping Dean's hair and giving it a hard tug. Dean yelled in surprised pain, before carefully unwrapping Sam's fingers, "Uh-uh, Sammy. You do that, I might need short hair!" He cradled him against his shoulder, "I love you. You know that, right? Not as much as Daddy does, no one can do anything as much as Daddy, he's amazing, but... I love you."

So it went between them, the little lost boy, granting the love and approval to another that he craved from his father, and the frightened child in need of affection.