Fly to the Angels
Chapt 3?
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)
T - language warning

A/N: WIP - Another take on 'Home', only this time Dean freaks out and can't bring himself to go into the house. Spoilers for Home, Faith, Benders. I'm also taking the episodes out of order this may be a tad exaggerated, but I wanted to have it so that Dean had gone through a lot before the 'Home' eppy, so a las, I changed the order, and also, in this fic Pa Winchester gave em co-ordinates for the Benders, instead of Asylum. Title from the song of the same name by Slaughter .

This is a bit of a filler until the next chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

"I'm telling you… I can't see anything in this journal that will help" Sam said, as he studied Dean. Silent and ominous.

As much as he wanted the answers to end this horror that had stalked them all these years, destroying the ones they loved the most, he still couldn't ignore the fact that Dean just wasn't dealing with it. At all.

Dean had seemed clearer, and much more of his usual spiky self, when Sam had returned to the car. But none that seemed present as Dean sat opposite him, nursing a warming coffee, in his hand. Not a man of many words in the first place, vocabulary had become so few and far between, with an occasional mono-syllabic contribution, that Sam's own thoughts appeared too loud and reverberating throughout his own skull. If he was unsure whether Dean was on the wrong side of being o.k., he's fears were confirmed Dean didn't even catch, or chose to ignore, the blatant bait of the flirtatious waitress and had actually let Sam order for him. A sure sign that he hadn't got back into game play.

Loud raucous laughter penetrated through the silence, jolting both Winchesters back to the present, as frustrated reprimands soon followed. Sam glanced back slightly to see a family of four sat in the booth behind. Mother, father, son and daughter. The children squabbling amongst themselves, across the table, as the boy, about none years of age, gleefully won the argument. The girl, Sam observed, was a few years younger. Teary-eyed and rosy cheeked, she buried her head into her father's arm and whined her resent.

"Dean" he said, turning his attention back to his brother, noticing him wince as the young continued to whine at a particularly high notch, "I know this must be hard on you".

God this must be so hard, Sam considered, as he realised that he couldn't remember a single detail from that night. He couldn't remember the house or this town – a thankful reminder of the event that changed their lives forever. And, although, he'd never got to know his mother, he'd never really thought he'd lost out on anything, not like Dean who'd had four years, four years of life, four years of memories, four years of worth… and so her loss, must have been felt so much more. He'd never resent Dean for that; besides how could you miss something you couldn't entirely remember having in the first place.

But it was for exactly these same reasons that he had to act now, before another family was lost to the very same evil that had destroyed theirs.

"Lets not do this Sammy" Dean murmured, one hand resting across his forehead, elbow on the diner table, as the other swirled the remainder of rapidly cooling coffee around the bottom of the cheap, off-white mug. A local paper sat open in front of him. His gaze was drawn past Sam, to the family of four, as the girls whining had become breathless with gulps. This family, that girl with her blatant attempts at attention, was just reminding Dean of the things he didn't have. Hell, this whole fucking diner, was reminding Dean of the things he didn't have. Everybody was somebody's mother, somebody's father, somebody's son, somebody's daughter. At this precise moment of time he didn't feel like he was anybody's son – just a lost brother.

"I know Dean" Sam said, fingering a napkin, "But this family…"

"God!" Dean suddenly snapped, voice loud and sharp, as he slammed the mug down hard, "Can't you shut her up!"

The outburst not only surprised Sam but the dozen or so people who had lingered around the diner. Dean had always been calm and patient with kids, something, Sam believed, that came from the countless years of being a surrogate-father to a kid who just didn't quite understand why they just weren't a normal family. Sam didn't even have time to process this abrupt behavioural change, as the girl's father stood up, quickly.

"Excuse me?"

Sam stood, lightening quick, and turned, standing between the flustered man and his own brother.

"Sorry" Sam said, trying to pacify the angry man, "We've just had a long drive…" he paused, trying to think of a reasonable excuse for his brother's behaviour, "… family reunion. Didn't go so well".

Dean was out of order, Sam knew that, and apologies needed to be said, even if it did all consist of lies, well there was a margin of truth to his words – it was a reunion of sorts, but Sam knew that he was about one punch away from knocking this man right out if he attempted another step towards his brother, who would have stood and joined him, if Sam hadn't put his palm out, halting his ascent. A silent way of saying 'Dude… I'm trying to get us out of your shit'.

"That doesn't excuse…" The man began.

"I know" Sam agreed, "But it got personal and sensitive" he paused, looking the man in the eye, "And I kinda would appreciate it if you would refrain from hitting my emotionally, admittedly defunct, and vulnerable brother… in front of your kids". The words laced with soft tones and calm, but he kept the eye contact, silently warning the guy to back off.

The man suddenly glanced back. The girl had now quietened observing them with wide-eyed curiosity, the boy looked more receptive the scene before him, and the wife looked away, embarrassed.

"It's o.k." The woman said, gathering the children up with both her hands, "We were leaving anyway, "She looked at her husband with a glare, "Steve, leave it. Lets get out of here".

The man took hold of the girl, pulling her up into his arms, "Your lucky my kids were here" he said as he trailed after his wife.

If your kids were not here, none of this would have happened, Sam thought ironically, as he wearily followed, with his eyes, until he saw them, finally exit the diner.

"Bro" Sam exclaimed, as he sat down with a sigh, "What the hell happened?"

"She gave me a headache" Dean replied, head now down, eyes refusing to meet Sam's questioning and concerned look.

"Yeah, well thanks" Sam stuck in, trying a different tactic, "Because I was nearly the filling between a knuckle sandwich"

"Sorry" Dean quietly replied.

"Dean" Sam began.

"Just leave it" Dean snapped, "and read the frigging journal!"

"I've told you – there's nothing" Sam said again.

Dean didn't reply, instead choosing to ignore him, he stared intently at the local classified ad's scattered across the two pages in front of him, as if he would miraculously find the answer between the dog breeders and pet accessories until a small box on the far bottom right hand corner caught his attention.

"Dude" he muttered quietly, as if saying it too loud would destroy the discovery and cause the box to sprout legs and run off the page, "Look" he said pushing the paper around so that it was facing Sam.

"What am I looking at?" Sam asked, confused, as to why he was being assaulted with random town-folks attempts at life. On any other occasion Sam would given anything to have the normalcy of just reading the classifieds for no more of a reason as buying a new piece of furniture.

"Here" Dean said, tapping a small non-imposing box.

The words simply read:

Missouri Mosely

Psychic

Appointments only – Drop-ins considered on special occasions

The words were followed by a contact number and an address.

"If this is another of your psychic jokes" Sam warned, "Not funny and so not the time".

"No" Dean said, taking hold of the cracked and worn leather bound journal, discarded by Sam's left arm. He flicked through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for and turning the journal so that it lay between the both of them, began to read 'I went to Missouri today and I learnt the truth', he paused and looked at Sam, eyes raised with a spark that resembled the Dean, that Sam hadn't seen since shortly before he'd revealed the contents of his dream, "I always thought he meant the state".

"Dad went to a psychic?" Sam asked disbelieving.

"Oh, what?" Dean responded, pulling back and sitting straighter, "You thought you were the only one?"

"Dude" Sam complained, "I've already told you, I'm not psychic – I just have these dreams…".

"Yeah, whatever you say, Carrie" Dean snorted.

Sam found a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"That's Telekinesis" Sam replied smugly, "Which I don't have"

"- Yet" Dean managed to slip in.

Jeez, Dean, you sure know how to reassure your brother over his newly acquired and, quite frankly, freaky skills. As he looked across the table, towards his brother, hazel eyes not masking the turbulent emotions, shining like a bright orb of light, Sam considered anything was better than an emotionally unavailable brother with inappropriate and ill-timed wit to mask all the pain.

"Come on" Sam, with a roll of the eyes. He folded the paper once, so the advert and its details were displayed, glancing once again at the clear and precise words, happened upon by accident. Sleight of hand, twist of fate, he thought wryly, as he grabbed at the journal with his free hand, "We should check this out".

"Dude" Dean exclaimed, hands spreading out before him, "Light headed, dizzy, headache. I need to replenish".

You forgot near potential panic attack, Sam thought to himself, and reluctantly stated, "Well… replenish on the move" he stood and turning slightly called out to their waitress, "Sorry… miss, but could we have that wrapped".

Dean now stood next to him, and he turned, a frown marking his forehead, as he sought out Dean's approval, "Look… I know it's hard" he stated again, but then went simply, and guiltily to the words that he knew would anchor Dean back into hunter mode, "But a family's life is at stake".

"I know" Dean replied, quietly and simply, and as he made his way to the counter, to collect the freshly-wrapped order, he thought to himself, I just hope it's not ours.

tbc

a/n Prompt: Sleight of hand, twist of fate (U2, With Or without You)