Alright, so now you get to find out what was left to them. Took me long enough to get there, I know. Hopefully you won't be too disappointed. I added in a little easter egg of a conversation just for some additional enjoyment. Hope you like it. Thanks once again for reading!

Armed with a name and a location, the Winchester boys thanked Heidi for her help and left the nursing home. "It shouldn't be too far," Dean offered, calculating the distance with the map of Independence he had already stored to memory.

"Great," Sam smiled. He looked at his watch and the smile faded as he realized they had been out for close to an hour and a half already. One glance at Dean, he could see his brother was trying to hide a grimace every time he put pressure on his leg, and he realized he had to put a stop to the charade. "Maybe we should go back to the motel for a bit first. Rest, take a load off."

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean lied easily. Anyone would have been convinced by his reassurances. Anyone, that is, but Sam.

"You're not fine," Sam insisted. "And besides, it's been over an hour already. We go see that lawyer and that will go well into three. Maybe longer."

"I said I'm fine," Dean growled out, heading to the driver's side with an exaggerated limp and a wince.

"Dean, you heard what the doctor said. You go too long too soon with that thing and you're libel to injure yourself more. I can see you're already hurting."

"I'm always hurting," Dean snapped as he slid into the car. "I had my fucking leg tore off by a bear trap. But this," he tapped the socket of the leg lightly, " this isn't doing anything. I'm fine."

"Dean, you're–"

"About to smack you silly if you don't shut up and leave me alone," Dean assured. "Now just drop it."

Sam's mouth clamped shut tightly, as though he wouldn't be able to keep it closed if it wasn't firmly sealed. He crossed his arms across his chest and pouted for a full two blocks before he decided to drop the issue. If there was one thing he knew about his brother, it was that he only learned from experience. And as much as Sam hated to see his brother in pain, the only way he chanced to convince Dean not to overdo it was to let him overdo it and pay the consequences.

But he also noticed something at the nursing home that he had to bring up, and now was as good a time as any. He started cautiously, unsure how Dean would take it, and figuring he wouldn't be eager to discuss it. But he also figured it would ultimately boost Dean's confidence, and that was enough to make the chance worthwhile. "So, that girl...Heidi...she was totally flirting with you, dude."

Dean's eyes left the road to glance over at Sam, glaring at him for the few seconds he dared look away. But he didn't say a word.

"Oh, come on," Sam prompted in exasperation. "You must have noticed it. I know you're not that blind to a woman's advances."

Shrugging, Dean replied in borderline nonchalance. "She was just feeling us out, Sam; trying to figure out if we were trustworthy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, don't sell yourself short. She was totally throwing herself at you. If we'd been there five minutes longer I think she would have asked you out."

"What the hell are you talking about Sam? She was just doing her job. She never looked twice at me." And why the hell would she?

"No, Dean, she never looked twice at me," Sam insisted as Dean took a turn a little too fast and he had to reach out and grab the suicide handle to keep himself upright. "When are you going to start believing that you're a desirable man, Dean. People will always have their prejudices, but the right woman isn't going to care about your leg."

"Yeah, well our lifestyle doesn't allow me to take the time to meet the right woman. All I have is time to meet a woman. One in this bar, one in that...and those women are only about appearances. You don't sleep with someone for one night because you think you have potential for a meaningless relationship; you sleep with them because you think they're hot. Because you think they have an incredibly hot, sexy body. Those kinds of women are gonna take one look at my leg and turn tail and run the other way. Too much baggage."

"Dean–"

"No, Sam, that's the way it is. I know that's how I'd react, so I can't expect them to be any different."

"How the hell could you possibly know you'd react that way?" Sam demanded, turning his entire body to face Dean. "You're one of the most compassionate people I know - the way you are with kids, people mourning the loss of loved ones–"

"Yeah, well not when it comes to sex," Dean muttered.

Sam had to lean in to hear, to understand, and it finally hit him. "It's happened to you," he whispered, in awe of the amount of things he was learning about his brother.

In his voice was remorse, but he spoke only the facts, as though it had meant nothing to him at the time, and probably still wouldn't if things had gone differently for him. If he still had his leg. "I was twenty-three. Dad and I were stopped for a week in Galveston Texas and I went out to the bar, hooked up with this real cute chick and we spent about a half hour in a booth at the back of the bar just - you know, making out and shit. Then she suggested we go back to her place. So we went, and we made it as far as the living room before she had her shirt and bra off, and then I undid her pants, and bam, there it was."

"She had a prosthetic leg?" Sam finished, knowing the answer. So he was surprised when Dean shook his head, laughing cynically as he did so.

"Hell no, Sam. That's not the half of it. It wasn't even as bad as a prosthetic - all it was is a pump; a little square plastic box strapped to her hip with a wire lead going into her stomach. She had diabetes - it was for her insulin."

Sam looked incredulous, but closed his mouth quickly as he realized now was not the time to berate Dean on morals and ethics. "So what happened?" he asked instead, when everything in his being wanted to tell him he never should have been so thrown by such a trivial thing.

"What do you think happened? I froze. All of a sudden she just wasn't sexy anymore. I couldn't get my mind past the box, and it pretty much ruined all libido action. So I left."

"So you had one bad date - it probably just made you nervous because you weren't expecting it," Sam reasoned, hoping to downplay the scenario and convince Dean it wouldn't happen to him.

"So you're saying that I won't be rejected if I walk up to the girl and tell her flat out?" Dean snorted, switching his voice into a mocking tone. "Hey darlin, I'm Dean and I have a false leg, wanna make out? Uh uh, Sammy, no way. Not gonna happen."

"I'm not saying you make it the first thing out of your mouth," Sam protested. "I'm just saying it shouldn't become some great big secret, either. And not everyone is going to take issue with it - hell, some women will probably find it alluring. Women like a wounded soldier."

Dean flinched, but tried to hide it as he grew tired of this line of conversation. "Sam, please, let's just drop this. I'm not ready - pushing me into it too soon isn't going to do either one of us any favors."

It was Sam's turn to flinch as he noted the tone of accusation behind Dean's suggestion. Because when you pushed me into going to the diner too soon that really turned out well, didn't it. "I'm sorry," he was quick to voice, finally turning back to the road and realizing they were stopped in front of the attorney's office. "How long have we been here?"

"Not long," Dean monotoned, climbing stiffly from the vehicle. He gripped tightly to the crutches, suddenly allowing the pressure of the swelling in his leg to come to light. He wasn't about to let Sam know his meddling had been pertinent, but god his leg was hurting right now. Maybe Sam wouldn't notice if he just stayed off the leg for the time being.

Sam did notice, but he was oh for two on the wise counselor front and he didn't dare go for three right now. Not when they were so close to finding out what, if anything, this trip would yield for them. As long as Dean stayed off the leg he wouldn't say a word.

The attorney's office was an old house turned office, and a small wooden sign out front read 'Walter F. Hadley, Attorney at Law.' As they approached the entrance they were once again faced with a set of stone steps, yet Sam managed to keep his mouth shut as Dean focused his efforts on climbing them one step at a time. He did, however, manage to maneuver himself directly behind Dean in case he happened to fall. He didn't, and Sam let out a long sigh as soon as the danger was over.

"You can stand down, soldier," Dean groused as he reached for the door handle. "I'm not made of glass. I won't break."

So his efforts hadn't gone as unnoticed as Sam had thought. Damn. "Sorry," he mumbled, suddenly feeling like a little kid who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He really didn't want to get into another fight right now. They had more important things to deal with right now.

Finding themselves in an empty hallway, they each took a side in search of where to go. A receptionists desk sat in what was probably once the living room, off to the right side, and Sam motioned for Dean to follow him in there. The receptionist sat with her back to the boys, humming away as she filed her nails vigorously. Her platinum blond hair was pulled high onto her head in a messy ponytail, and from what they could make out of her legs she wore a very short skirt.

"Excuse us," Sam spoke hesitantly.

The receptionist jumped, startled at the intrusion on her afternoon beauty ritual, and she turned quickly. "My goodness you two are stealthy, aren't you," she exclaimed, one hand planted firmly against her heart. "You just about scared me to death." Getting a look at her from the front, it surprised both brothers to see she was significantly older than they had expected - a sixty year old with a twenty year old's wardrobe.

"Sorry about that. I hadn't realized we were being overly quiet," Sam apologized, although, how she had managed to miss Dean's crutches clunking against the hardwood floors he wasn't sure.

"Not a problem, young man. Now, what can I do for you?"

Sam looked back at his brother, realizing Dean had reverted once again to his introverted mood. Apparently their little conversation had done more harm than he'd initially realized. His heart dropped, but he proceeded anyway. Backing out now would do no good to his brother. "We were hoping to speak with Mr. Hadley," he explained. "Apparently, he was in charge of my grandfather's will. We were just hoping he might be able to give us some more information on our grandfather."

"Uh huh, uh huh," she nodded, not really caring about the particulars as she tapped away at the keyboard keys while scanning her screen. "Well, Mr. Hadley is in a meeting with a client right now, but if you don't mind waiting fifteen minutes or so he should have some availability."

"We'll wait," Sam agreed immediately, pulling Dean off to the side where he had already spotted a couch to sit on. "Just let us know when he's ready," he added anxiously.

His knee immediately went into nervous bouncing mode, and Dean let it go on for a full two minutes before his hand reached out in exasperation, clamping tightly onto Sam's knee to bring it fully to a stop as he eyed him questioningly. What the hell is going on with you? His gaze asked.

Sam clamped his mouth in response, not willing or able to explain his actions. Instead, he took to staring at the face of the large grandfather clock seated on the floor across the room. The time moved ever so slowly as he watched it go by second by second, and he found himself lost in a haze of oblivion by the time the receptionist called for them.

"Sam," Dean hissed in annoyance as he elbowed him hard in the ribs. "We can go in now. Come on, get up."

Apparently, as Sam had been lost in thought, watching the time slowly pass, Dean had been studying the receptionist carefully because as they left the room to in search of Mr. Hadley he leaned into Sam and commented, " Dude, mid-life crisis much?" He grinned evilly as he nudged his head back in the direction of the woman, and Sam couldn't help but smirk back as he nodded in agreement.

"Severe mental issues," Sam agreed as he led the way down the hall toward the room they had been directed to.

The fifty something lawyer with a severe comb-over met them at the door to his office, eagerly shaking both their hands and registering their names before ushering them into his office and urging them to sit down. "Now, boys, what can I do for you?"

This was it. This was what Sam had been waiting for as soon as he had discovered the key sketch in his father's journal. This was the opportunity he'd been praying Dean might have from the minute he found out they couldn't afford the care and accessories his brother so desperately needed to feel whole again. Yet suddenly, he found that he couldn't speak anymore. This was the moment he'd wanted, but he feared it might not reveal what he had been hoping so fervently for. And the fear he had was overpowering.

It was Dean, once again, who jumped in, feeling as though he were on a level playing field as he sat face to face with the lawyer, any indication on his missing leg impossible to see from behind the huge oak desk the man sat behind. "We're here about our grandfather," he began, and then launched into the same story they had told at the nursing home, adding the part they had learned there.

As Dean spoke, the lawyer seemed to be drawn into the story, his eyes speaking with recognition as though he knew parts of this story, as though he had his own version of what he was hearing. And when Dean finished, the man leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin contemplatively.

"I was wondering if we would ever hear from you boys," he finally voiced, a hint of a smile on his face. Sam finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"So you believe us?" he pressed hesitantly. "You know us?"

In answer, Hadley raised a finger - one minute - and rose from his desk. He disappeared from the room, and stayed gone for a long time. Too long in Sam's book as he quickly returned to his prior nervousness.

"Where do you think he went?" he finally asked, twisting around in his chair in search of the man's presence for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean replied testily. Geez, his kid brother was getting annoying. When had he become such a spazoid in the waiting department? Sam had always always been the level headed one of the duo - he'd never been the one to jump to conclusions, he'd never been the impatient one. Sam could wait for hours to find out the simplest things. Hell, geek boy had practically grown up in libraries, pouring over the boring texts for hours at a time without so much as a squeak of boredom emitting from his lips. Yet here he was, going crazy because a lawyer had dared to make them wait for a couple of minutes while he retrieved something from another room.

"You don't think he's calling the cops or something? Like, maybe he thinks we're imposters or something?"

And irrational thoughts to boot? What the hell? "Sam, chill out, will you?" Dean demanded. "He'll be back. He probably just went to get the file."

Sam nodded nervously, his head bobbing too quickly as he tried to convince himself that Dean was right. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. That must be it."

"It is," Dean growled. And as though in answer, Mr. Hadley returned to the room carrying a large file.

"I'm sorry to keep you boys waiting. This was in a box under several others. It took me a bit to get down to it."

Dean turned pointedly to Sam. See?

Hadley, leaned back in his chair again, sifting through the file as he spoke. "In answer to your earlier question, Sam, yes - I do know who you are. I've actually known about you boys for quite some time, I just was never able to locate you."

"We move around a lot," Sam answered, finally regaining his voice as hope seemed to return yet again. He just hoped this was it, he wasn't sure if he could handle another let down.

Brushing the comment aside with a wave of his hand, Hadley continued. "Mr. Angelli came to me years ago with an odd request. It wasn't that the outcome was all that odd," he added quickly, "just that his reasons were somewhat odd. He told me about how his son-in-law - your father, I assume - had taken off with his grandson's against his desires. Said he had cleared out his bank account, as well your college accounts and was spending all the money on some...odd...things that he didn't approve of, and he wanted to set aside some money for you boys in case you might need it some day. But he didn't want to just set aside money, because he didn't want your father to be able to get his hands on it."

Sam's eyes widened as he realized he was finally hearing what he had hoped to hear, while Dean wavered back and forth over feelings of loyalty toward their father, feeling the need to defend his reasons to clear out the accounts. But at the same time, he could understand his newfound grandfather's reasons behind locking their father out from any money he might have left Sam and Dean. He wasn't sure which emotion was stronger, but this wasn't the time to worry about that, and having feelings - for or against his grandfather - wasn't going to change the outcome.

Hadley continued. "So we ended up putting the money into a bonds for the two of you, under the stipulation that they could only be cashed with your signatures. They've been maturing for well over twenty years." From the file, he pulled out two stacks of papers, each held together by a thick binder clip and set one in front of each of the boys.

"I've been getting a monthly statement for these bonds ever since we started them. The top one is the current value."

Somehow, Sam managed to widen his eyes even more as he calculated the grand total of their two bonds. "There's almost sixty thousand dollars between the two," he hissed in amazement. He'd never seen that much money; never possessed even close to that much; never dreamed he would. That was more than enough to cover the prostheses and the therapy, and if they were lucky there might even be some left over for something fun. A vacation, maybe.

Beside him, Dean sat in equally stupefied astonishment, completely unable to believe that anyone would bequeath him such a large sum of money. To Dean, he had never deserved anything, and certainly not sixty thousand dollars worth of anything. "We can't accept it," he found himself whispering.