Wow, so I started off this weekend fighting a cold, and then woke up yesterday morning to find that my laptop monitor wouldn't come on. So I rushed right out to by myself a desktop computer so that I wouldn't be without while I send my laptop off to be fixed. (Anything for my loyal readers - haha. Because it has nothing to do with my own personal obsession with my computer and the fact that I went stir crazy in just the few hours it took me to replace the files from one to the other.) Anyway, I'm all set up again, and have finished pounding out this next chapter. I had meant this to be the big reveal, but this trip is taking longer than I expected, and this chapter ended up being the lead in to why they're here. Hope you all approve of the logic behind it all. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

There was something about the town they were headed to that spoke of hope and possibility, made promises for new chances. Independence. How appropriate, Sam thought as he steered the old black car down the straight stretch of highway toward their destination. The closer they got, the more convinced he became that they would find something. His father was many things - bastard, dictator, commander - topping the list, but one thing was for certain. The man liked his clues. He lapped up his prophecies. Coincidence was not in his vocabulary. While Dean slept, Sam had had plenty of time to consider these facts and came up with one solid answer. Their father had led them to this town for a reason. He couldn't have known what would happen to Dean, but somewhere along the line he had felt it necessary to give his boys some hope for the other difficulties in their lives. He had chosen to give them back some of their independence.

As the sounds AC/DC album Dean had popped in before he'd dozed off played softly over the speakers Sam looked over to his brother for the thousandth time on that ride, a hint of a smile on his lips as his new found expectations of the town allowed themselves to grow and flourish in his over eager mind. Part of him wanted Dean to wake up so he could share his revelations, but then he would have to explain just why he was so eager to find some money in the first place. Instinct told him to allow Dean to continue sleeping.

Therapy exhausted Dean to the core. He'd willingly relinquished the driver's seat to Sam as they left the rehab center and made a beeline to the Impala, and was asleep in the time it took them to wind their way out of the city and onto the interstate. His head lolled against the window pane, shifting every time Sam rounded a curve or hit a pot hole. Occasionally, a groan or a sigh would escape through his mouth and Sam would glance over to him, smiling as he did so. In sleep, Dean finally appeared content.

In the back seat lay the new prosthetic, cushioned between a discarded sweatshirt and the nylon bag of liners and sleeves. Dr. Jennings hadn't even batted an eye when he told Dean he could take it with him this time, that the adjustments seemed to be right and it was time that he start practicing with it outside of the facility as well. Sam had felt a little guilty as they left, knowing that if this trip to Independence was a bust they wouldn't be returning and the generous doctor would be down a lot of money. But he had maintained a stoic face, never giving anything up - to Dean, or to the doctor. He had noble intentions to return.

The only word of caution Jennings had voiced to his patient was not to overdo it. He had forced his insistence with a stern cautionary eye at Sam, only releasing his firm gaze when Sam nodded his acceptance of the task. Dean was only to wear it for an hour at a time - at most, and only two or three times a day to start. Too much too soon could cause swelling and irritation, and put Dean back to square one before he had even begun to make noticeable improvements.

So Dean had removed the prosthesis once they were in the car, taking care to treat the new equipment with as much love and attention as he did his weapons and his car. Sam had noted the hint of reluctance Dean had over taking it off so soon after the prosthesis had proven itself to not be the enemy Dean had feared it was. Dean's actions had always given him away much sooner than his words, and Sam wondered how long it would be before Dean would verbally admit that the prosthesis wasn't so bad.

The first road sign for Independence came into view, announcing the distance to be only nine miles away. Sam looked down at his watch, surprised that it was just past five o'clock. They needed to find a place to stay and get some food before anything else, maybe turn in early so they could get an early start on the hunt the next day. If he was honest with himself, Sam had to admit that he was scared. Sure, their father had gotten them as far as Independence, but from there Sam had no clue where they were headed. It wasn't a standard hunt; the local newspaper's had nothing in the way of odd occurrences and supernatural happenings going on in the area. From everything Sam could tell it was just normal, ordinary, Boringville USA when it came to the hunt. Which, on the one hand, was perfectly fine with Sam. He didn't want this to be just another hunt, didn't want to be getting his hopes up just to find that their father had simply sent them on yet another meaningless salt and burn in the grand scheme of things. But on the other hand, he was out of clues, and maybe if there was some kind of something to hunt in the area he could let himself believe that it was guarding something; something valuable. But where the hell did they go from here?

He chose not to wake Dean until they were actually sitting in the motel parking lot. Dean needed all the rest he could get. And he seemed so calm and content when he slept - Sam was still a little afraid that Dean's mood might not hold steady when he was awake, and he rather liked watching his brother smile. But the motel parking lot was the end of the line, and it was finally time to see if the mood would stick.

"Dean, wake up," Sam whispered, shaking his brother's arm gently. Dean stirred, another groan emitting from his throat as he batted Sam's hand away.

"Five more minutes, Sammy."

"No, now Dean. We're at the motel. I've got us a room already," Sam insisted.

Blinking rapidly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dean finally sat up. "We're already here?" he asked groggily, looking around for just a minute before he became fully cognizant. "I slept for the whole ride?"

Sam chuckled at that. "Like sleeping beauty."

"Wow, man. I'm sorry."

"Not a problem, dude. You were tired. Besides, I got some thinking done while you were sleeping."

Dean perked up at that, eyeing Sam curiously as he collected his crutches from the back seat and prepared to climb from the car. He waited until they were both out and heading to the room, bags slung over Sam's shoulder, before he questioned it.

"So did you figure anything out? Any clues as to what we're looking for?"

Sam shook his head. "That's not exactly what I was thinking about," he hedged. "I honestly don't know where to go now that we're here."

"Then what exactly were you thinking about?" Dean pressed.

"Nothing specific," Sam insisted as he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door to their room. "It was just nice to have some quiet time to think."

"About me," Dean filled in, challenging Sam to tell him otherwise.

Sam cringed, but chose not to deny the accusation, just soften it. "Yeah, of course about you. And about me. And Dad. And a whole slew of things that haven't gotten my attention in a long time. Don't read more into it than you actually have to."

Dean's gaping mouth closed slowly in defeat. There was a time that he would have pushed further, argued harder. He knew there was more to Sam's proclamation than he was letting on, but getting Sam to open up pretty much meant he would be forced to open up as well, and Dean didn't have the energy for that. It was so much easier to just drop it.

"Sorry," he finally offered under his breath as he removed himself to the bathroom to freshen up.

"Dean, it's not..." Sam began, but ended up giving up the protest as his words were met with the slamming of the bathroom door. He hated the polar levels of Dean's mood; one minute his brother was happy and positive, the next moody and despondent. He wished there was a way to get through to the man, but Sam was at a loss for how. His only hope that this new mission of their's, as innocuous as he hoped the hunt would be, would somehow succeed in bringing life back into his brother's soul.

When Dean returned from the bathroom several minutes later, Sam was nervously sitting at the foot of one of the beds. He looked up expectantly as his brother emerged, attempting to read his face for signs of where the evening might be headed.

"You want to look for something to eat?" Sam asked hesitantly. He held his breath as he waited for the answer, knowing he'd just asked a loaded question as he thought back to the last time he and Dean had ventured out for food.

Dean shrugged, cautious himself as he considered his answer. Trying not to appear too over-eager, he casually shrugged. "I guess I could try the leg again. Maybe I won't get as many stares."

Sam nodded once, merely an indication of having heard his brother's words, before he made his way out to the car to collect the equipment. His wide grin only found a home for the time he was out of Dean's sight, returning itself to its original aloofness before Sam walked back through the door.

"Need any help with this stuff?" Sam offered, as he handed over the leg and bag to his equally poker-faced brother.

Dean shook his head slowly, the gears churning already as he replayed the first two times he'd worn the prosthesis and exactly how it had been put on. "Naw, I've got it."

Ten minutes later had Dean changed out of the exercise pants Sam insisted he wear to therapy into a pair of Jeans, the prosthetic firmly attached to his residual limb. As he'd done before, Dean tested the weight bearing capabilities of the combination hesitantly, as though he feared a different response without Dr. Jenning's presence.

When he was certain it was alright, Dean took a few hesitant steps, leaning heavily on the crutches as he did so, and ended up staring at himself in the large half mirror in the cubby beside the bathroom. From the distance he maintained, he could see the majority of his frame and he studied it critically.

"If you don't look hard, you almost can't tell it's fake," he whispered apprehensively, eyes shifting away from Sam as though he feared his brother to give him an opposing response.

Surprised at the comment, Sam glanced down at Dean's legs, noting the way the jeans fell. The right leg was more filled out, the heavy material catching at the top of Dean's calf muscle before continuing to cover his shoe, but aside from a slight concaveness to the lower half of the left Jean leg there wasn't much to indicate a difference. The only thing that seemed off, to Sam, was the presence of tennis shoes in place of his brother's usual steel toed boots. But he supposed that would come in time - when their weight wouldn't pose an additional challenge in relearning to walk.

"Can't imagine anyone will notice," Sam honestly reassured the older man. Adding, "If anyone asks why the crutches - not that they will - we'll just tell them you pulled a muscle or something."

Dean nodded, his uncertainty fading away at the conviction in Sam's voice. "Then I guess I'm ready to go."

xxxxxxxxxx

Despite Sam's registered assurance to Dean that no one would know, no one would stare, he found it very difficult to convince himself of the same concept, his overprotectiveness of his brother shining through tenfold. He glared at the hostess as she led them to a table in the center of the room, daring her to say something, do something, that might make Dean feel less of a person. He made constant scans of the room, eyeing each of the patrons as he fought the feeling that the laughter from the corner booth was aimed at Dean, that the whispered conversation across the aisle was about him. But if Dean noticed any of this he didn't say anything, probably because he was too busy performing his own survey of the room.

It wasn't until after the meal was eaten, the check paid for, and they were on their way back to the car that Sam finally managed to convince himself to relax. A loud sigh, releasing the breath he'd been holding for what seemed like an hour, escaped his throat before he was able to suppress it, and Dean glanced at him from across the top of the car, no doubt knowing exactly what the action was in response to. Damn it, Sam, get a grip. Dean's not ready for you to lose it now.

Dean waited until he was seated in the car to say anything. And then thought better of it and waited until they were at the mouth of the parking lot. And then until they were at the end of the street. How do I tell my little brother that I appreciate him looking out for me - that I know he was still so nervous of what people would do or say in there, but he tried so hard not to let on. How do you say thanks for keeping your mouth shut? He was a man of few words, at least few that said anything close to resembling feelings, and even just the little bit of gratitude he felt for his brother was difficult to convey. But when they made it to the entrance to the motel parking lot he finally found the nerve. "Thanks, man..." It wasn't much, but it was honest, and heartfelt.

Sam did a double take, blinking quickly as he cut the engine and looked over at his brother. "For what?"

The older man wasn't looking at him. His eyes were directed down at his lap where his hands lay entwined together, twisting and wringing desperately in his nervousness. What did I do to deserve thanks? For the life of him Sam couldn't think of anything he'd done, unless you counted worrying needlessly, and lying to his brother - reassuring him that things would be fine when Sam himself couldn't believe that.

"For helping me get through this."

This what? This meal? This day? This whole fucked up nightmare? "I haven't done anything," Sam insisted. He fingered the keys nervously, pulling them halfway out of the ignition before shoving them back in - over and over.

"You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself." God what the hell is wrong with me? This is the second chick-flick conversation I've started in less than two weeks. "You've been patient, and understanding." And my mouth is running like a freakin river during a flood. "I couldn't have asked for a better support system in all this."

"I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done."

And Dean had nodded at that, accepted it as the end to the conversation, not because he fully believed its truth but because he didn't want to push the moment further. It was awkward enough as it was, and his arguing Sam's reasoning behind his presence would get them nowhere. He would tell Sam that it was over and above, and Sam would counter that Dean had been there for him countless times in the past and he was just repaying the favor. The argument would never be won by either party because neither was willing to accept their own sizeable role in each other's lives. Neither would admit that he was nothing without the other and everything with - but in their hearts they both knew it to be true. And that was enough.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" Dean asked, abruptly changing the subject before he found himself weeping over a box of tissues with his teary eyed brother at his side. "Tell me you have some idea what to do next."

"I figure our best bet is to hit the library first thing in the morning. Start looking at the town history and stuff like that. I told you before, there's nothing supernatural going on in this town. I have no idea why Dad would have sent us here."

"There's got to be something," Dean insisted. "Dad always had some sort of motive."

Sam couldn't argue with the logic, but he couldn't give a reason for it either. So he responded with a shrug as he realized they had never extracted themselves from the car. "I don't want to think about it anymore tonight," he answered, pulling the handle on the door to open it. Fresh, cool air invaded the car, and they both breathed in deeply as the aroma of clean small town air washed over them. "Tonight, I want to be normal. I want to take a real shower and sit down and watch a movie and pretend that neither one of us has a care in the world."

Dean mirrored Sam's actions to get out of the car, smiling as he did so. He could do that. For one night, he could forget himself in the comfort of normal living; the normalcy of being back on the road with his kid brother. For one night, he could go back to being Dean Winchester, big brother extraordinaire, and enjoy himself with Sammy. "Sounds like a plan I could get used to," he agreed.

And they did just that. The movie was mindless drivel, just the perfect touch to fully remove themselves from the harsh reality of the world and instead immerse their haggard minds into comedy so obscure there wasn't a chance any of it could be grounded in reality. Each laid in his own bed, but as close to the center edges as was possible, never fully wanting to relinquish the nearness that they both relished and yet loathed to divulge to the other. And both fell asleep to the background of the television as the movie ended and the late night talk shows came on.

It was relaxing, calming - the kind of night that cleared your mind from all external thought processes, the kind of night that made long forgotten events come clear as day. And maybe that was what was meant to happen; maybe that had been the plan all along - some unconscious master plan on Sam's part. Because somewhere along the way he'd gotten a pretty clear idea that Dean knew more about the town's importance than he was letting on; but that those facts had long ago slipped his memory when their father's quest for the Demon had taken precedent.

Whatever the reason for their relaxed evening in, though, didn't matter. What did matter was that sometime in the middle of the night when he was at his most relaxed, Dean had a dream that called forth a memory. And he woke up suddenly, the dream still fresh in his mind as he reached over and turned on the light, calling softly for Sam to wake up as he did so. Sam's groggy eyes blinked frantically as he tried to focus on Dean's face, his foggy mind having trouble deciphering whether the look on his brother's face was that of desperation or excitement. He looked pointedly at the clock, and then back at Dean. It's three thirty in the morning, dude. But he never got to voice the thoughts out loud as Dean's excitement - and was that also confusion - finally got the better of the older man.

"I know what we're supposed to find here!"