Okay, one of my favorite scenes in this fic so far is at the end of this chapter.

(Anti-Wincest Warning! Also, for those with weak stomachs, mentions of slash that never happened.)

Chapter Five: Bonding

(Home)

Dean slipped away from Sam at the gas station, more than just a little freaked out by Sam's admission of visions. He might have totally dismissed it, except for the fact that this was John Winchester's son. Dean tended to take Sam very seriously because of that. When Dean finally realized this was the reason Bloody Mary came after Sam, because the guy actually blamed himself for his girlfriend's death, Dean felt like slamming his head against the wall.

As he pulled out his phone, he wondered just how much to leave in his message to Dad. His call rolled over to voicemail, of course. "Dad, we're in Lawrence. There's a problem and something in your old house, and I don't know what to do. If you can, please, get here as fast as you can." Dean slid the phone back into his pocket. Telling Dad that his son, his only real son, was experiencing supernatural visions was not the type of thing to leave in a voicemail. If Dad… Correction: When Dad showed up, Dean would tell him everything.

They wound up seeing a psychic named Missouri. Dean did not care for her too much. She kept swatting at his feet and bitching him out for things he hadn't said. The part that freaked him out, though, was when she turned from telling Sam how sorry she was about Jess to him, saying no one should have to watch their parents die like he did. He firmly believed she was a mind reader, but whose mind she read to learn about his parents was bugging him. He never told Sam that part, and tended to keep it buried too deep to think about. To be honest, he didn't even remember that much.

--

John looked up as Missouri came back into the room. "They left," she informed him, looking down her nose at him. Of course, he did not blame her. It was a pretty shitty thing he was doing to them. "I just don't understand you, John Winchester. Those boys love you."

He maintained eye contact. "Mary? Her spirit?" he asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

She shook her head. "Gone. I can't feel any trace of her, or anything else, in that house."

John sighed, resting his head in his hand.

"So, you want to explain that older boy to me now? Why he thinks of you as a father and then you go and abandon him like that?"

John shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "It's, ah, complicated."

"You could just tell me it's because you don't want to see him hurt. What's so complicated about that? I swear, John Winchester, you are the most obstinate, stubborn man I've ever met." He heard the rustle of fabric as her fingers drummed on her hips.

"That kid, he's been through too much already," John tried to explain. "I couldn't just knowingly put him in this kind of danger. But I never thought he'd…"

"What? That he would go to California? Of course he did, he didn't understand and that hurt him more than anything that might have happened to him," she snapped at him. "What did you think he'd do, go back home and become a mechanic again? You'd better be grateful he didn't, because he saved Sam's life."

John blinked up at her. He hadn't known about Sam's girlfriend until now. There were a number of voicemails he hadn't been able to bring himself to listen to all the way through. Something in the tone of Dean's voice this time caught his attention, and was he glad for that.

"They're getting along pretty well," Missouri said, answering his unspoken thought. "Sam is beginning to accept him as Dean. It won't be something that happens overnight, and it would be easier with a little explanation from you, but they won't be getting that, will they?"

He sighed, long and deep. "I can't, Missouri. I just can't."

"Sam is a very talented psychic. I can't imagine why he didn't sense you were already here," she pointed a finger down at him. "I still think you should talk to those boys. Sam is hurting something fierce and Dean doesn't know what else he can do." She glared at him. "Not that it should be his job to do anything."

The implication being it was his job, John knew. "There's too much at stake," John insisted, standing. "I have to go."

Missouri sighed, blocking his way. "Well, you know my door is always open."

"Thanks." He gave her a peck on the cheek as he left. His Mary had finally been truly laid to rest. He should feel relieved or grateful or something. Instead he felt hollow inside, like all of his emotions had abandoned him, just the way he had abandoned the boys.

--

Dean drove just as far from Lawrence as they could without stopping for a rest. The image of Sam's mother haunted his thoughts, the way she gave him that sad, wistful smile and called him Dean. He wished he could remember his parents. There was this huge black space in his memory, a void of everything that happened before the Wendigo attacked. When they both had to admit sleep was necessary, Dean pulled into a crappy-looking motel. Only one letter in the vacancy sign still worked and when they entered the room, Dean thought he saw something dark and furry scuttle under one of the beds. He tried not to worry about it as he threw his bag down on the floor by his bed.

Sam did not even complain about taking the bed furthest from the door anymore. He wondered if Sam ever figured out why he wanted that bed or if the guy just assumed he was lazy. Not that he really cared either way. There was one thing still bothering him, though.

"Sam?" Dean waited until Sam turned heavy, bloodshot eyes to him. "Can I ask you a question?"

Sam's face scrunched in a puzzled expression that made him look like a little kid. "Uh, I guess. About what?"

Dean motioned to the other bed for Sam to sit down. He wondered if that was a mistake, Sam looked ready to pass out. Dean sat facing Sam.

"I figured out that Missouri can kind of hear what you're thinking," Dean began. Sam chuckled, clearly still amused by the constant tongue-lashing Dean had to endure. "So I wondered how she knew about my parents?"

Sam's face fell. "What do you mean?"

Dean met his gaze. "I mean, I don't think about that. So how did she know?"

Sam's eyes dropped to his feet. He cleared his throat as he pulled out his wallet. After rummaging in it for a moment, Sam pulled something out and handed it over. Dean took the object from Sam's hand. It was his driver's license, the legal one. Dean gave him a questioning look.

Sam shrugged. "Well, can you really blame me? Some guy I've never seen before shows up to tell me that my dad is in trouble? I had to check you out."

Dean nodded, squeezing his hand around it. "Guess not."

"I probably should have asked," Sam rushed to say, "but like I said, I didn't know you. You could have lied to me."

"So what all did you find? On me?" Dean asked, locking into Sam's gaze. "What made you stick with me? You could have just snuck out, taken the car."

Sam cleared his throat again. "Dad wrote those map coordinates to you. He left his journal for you to find." Sam took a deep breath. "If Dad trusts you that much, I figured that meant something."

Dean's heart rate picked up. "Does it?" he asked, unable to squash the hope building in his chest. "Because I, uh, called him on the way here." He felt the heat creep into his face. "But he didn't come." Dean wondered if Sam had been the one to call, if Dad would have showed up.

Sam's eyes hardened, but Dean had no idea why. "Did you?" That cold, calculating tone crept into Sam's voice, the one that made Sam sound like John. It sent a chill up Dean's arms. "Well, I'll have to add that to my list."

Dean felt his eyebrows lift. "List? What are you talking about?"

Sam pulled a small spiral pad out of his pocket. "A list of things to talk to Dad about. You know, so I don't forget anything important."

"Why would that be important enough to be on your list?" Dean asked.

Sam made either a scoffing or huffing noise, he couldn't decide which it was. "Dude, he made you a Winchester." Dean tried to make his face go blank, but it was probably too late. "Yeah, I recognize one of Dad's IDs when I see it. And then he doesn't bother returning your call when you tell him we're coming here because of a vision I had?" Sam's head shook, his hair flying around.

"I didn't…" He stopped when Sam paused in writing to look up at him. Dean's mouth felt a little dry. "I didn't say anything about the visions, just that there was something in your old house."

Sam made that noise again. "If you'd mentioned the vision, I bet he would've shown up." Guilt crept up, making his shoulders sag. Sam's eyes narrowed again. "But, believe it or not, I'm not complaining. As a matter of fact," Sam's back straightened and he looked Dean right in the eye, "I need to thank you. For taking my dreams, visions, whatever they are, seriously. I'm not sure Dad would have done that."

That was a strange thing to say. "But I always take you and Dad seriously," Dean tried to protest.

Sam held up a hand so Dean shut up. "Yeah, I know. And I said thanks."

Dean regarded Sam for a moment before nodding slowly. "Want the bathroom first?" He tilted his head in that direction, as if Sam hadn't figured out where it was yet.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering. "You're too good for us. You know that?" Sam opened his eyes to stare at Dean. "I really don't get why you stick around."

Dean frowned. That sounded so wrong. He was the one trying desperately not to be dumped again. That did not make him too good, for anyone or anything. Sam sure came up with some odd ideas sometimes.

Dean decided to let it slide. He doubted Sam would say anything like that again, so they would both be able to pretend it never happened. That usually worked pretty well with Dad, and so far seemed to work with Sam.

When the sounds of Sam taking a shower reached his ears, Dean eyed the wallet lying on the nightstand. He'd never opened Sam's wallet before. He opened it slowly, expecting something dramatic like Sam bounding out screaming "Ah-ha! Got you!" Dean was almost disappointed when nothing happened. He slid his ID back inside. It was okay for Sam not to trust him, he had not earned that right yet, but Sam should feel trusted. Dean had no other way of showing that.

--

(Asylum)

Pure rage filled him. Ellicott wasn't evil, he just helped Sam to see what he really felt all this time. It was Dean's fault Dad was gone. Dean did something or said something to drive Dad off the grid. Probably a lover's spat. That was it. That explained the ID with the Winchester name and Dad's disappearance. That explained why every call rolled over to voicemail. That explained everything.

"I told you, I looked everywhere," Sam insisted after Dean mentioned something about a hidden lab. "I didn't find a hidden room."

"Well, that's why they call it hidden," Dean replied. Sam's blood boiled as Dean's head tilted toward the wall with the door. "You hear that?"

"What?" Sam asked, renewing his grip on the shotgun.

Dean crouched down, feeling along the space where the wall met the floor. His thoughts filled with disgusting images of other things Dean could be doing in that position. With his Dad. "There's a door here," Dean said, searching for a way in.

Sam raised his shotgun, pointing it directly at Dean's chest. "Dean." Dean ignored him, as usual. "Step away from the door."

Dean stood, giving him a quizzical look. "Sam, put the gun down."

"Is that an order?" Sam barked, allowing that delicious anger to surge through him.

"More of a friendly request," Dean replied, taking a step back. Good, he looked kind of scared.

Sam made certain there was no mistaking where he aimed his shotgun. "Good. Because I'm getting sick and tired of taking your orders. I mean, should I really have to take orders from my dad's…" God, he couldn't even get the word out.

Dean's eyes widened. "Your dad's what?"

"You know," Sam snarled, motioning with the shotgun. "You know what you are."

"I knew it," Dean breathed out, "Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?"

"For once, just shut your mouth," Sam snapped, that anger wrapping itself around him like a python, squeezing more out every second.

"What are you gonna do, Sam?" Dean's voice grated on his every nerve, like the constant whine of fingernails across a chalkboard. "The gun's filled with rocksalt. Not gonna kill me." That mocking tone was too much.

Sam fired, the blast strong enough to send Dean flying through the hidden door. "No," he said with a smirk, "but it'll hurt like hell."

As Sam stepped into the hidden room, Dean's eyes opened as he gasped for breath. The sound brought a smile to his face.

"Sam," Dean breathed, "we gotta burn his bones. Then you'll be back to normal."

"I am normal!" Sam shouted down at this twisted pervert at his feet. "I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Are you that desperate for his approval? For his love?"

"This isn't you talking, Sam," Dean insisted, trying to push himself off the floor. Sam pushed him back down with the muzzle of his shotgun.

"That's the difference between you and me. Well, one of them anyway. I'm not pathetic, I have a mind of my own. And I'm not screwing Dad." Sam glared down.

Dean rolled his eyes. "So what are you gonna do, huh? You gonna kill me? Because I take orders and you think I'm ripping Dad off?"

He was stealing from Dad, too? Well, that certainly explained the Impala. That was supposed to be his car, before he went to college. Something else that was Dean's fault. He ground his teeth. "You know what? I'm sick of you telling me what to do. We're no closer to finding Dad now than we were six months ago. When you two obviously had your spat."

"Spat?" Dean blinked up at him. "What spat? What the hell are you talking about now?"

Sam felt his lips twist into a snarl. "Your lover's spat. And you came to get me to try to win Dad back over, right? Use his son to get him back?" Okay, was it him or did that sound much better in his head?

Dean just stared at him for a really long time. Then he pulled out a pistol. When Sam did not move immediately, Dean held the gun up higher. "Just shoot me now." Dean's eyes closed. "Please."

Sam took the gun, pointed it down at Dean. One part of him screamed out in his mind, trying to stay his hand, put the gun down. His hand trembled and he was used to it being rock steady. What was wrong? This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Dean being dead would solve most of his problems, probably even bring Dad back. Yeah, Dad would be so grateful he'd probably call right away, ask to meet up with Sam. Then they would have to have a long, long talk about the kind of people Dad dated. Sam needed to come up with a checklist, and he pondered if number one should require a specific gender.

With that thought, Sam squeezed the trigger. It clicked. Damn, that chamber was empty. He pulled the trigger again and again. What the hell? Didn't Dean trust him?

"Like I'd give you a loaded gun," Dean said. Sam's eyes slid from the empty gun in his hand to Dean's face, but it was too late. Dean reached up and that was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the same dank asylum basement.

"Come on," Dean held out a hand. Sam hesitated before accepting his help, not knowing if he would be hauled to his feet or an early grave. "I torched Ellicott. It's over."

They escorted the kids they rescued inside to their car, Dean issuing a final warning to stay away from haunted asylums.

Sam could not let the guilt consume him. "Hey Dean. I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there."

Dean glanced back, that suspicious look on his face. "You remember all that?"

"Yeah, it's like I couldn't control it. I didn't mean it." Sam hoped Dean would believe him, even if it was only half-true. "Any of it."

"You didn't, huh?" Dean asked, not sounding convinced.

"No, of course not," Sam insisted. That voice in the back of his head said that this could be the opportunity to clear the air. "Do we need to talk about this?"

Dean scowled at him. "No. I'm not in the sharing, caring kind of mood. I just wanna get some sleep."

Sam sheepishly tucked himself into the passenger seat. True to his word, Dean drove to the first motel he spotted. Dean checked them in. Sam felt relieved by the fact there were two beds in the room, not that they had ever had anything else. Or any reason to suspect that Dean would ask for a single bed. Sam shuddered at the thought.

Sam brought the medical kit with him and tossed it on the bed. "Okay, let's see it." He motioned to Dean's chest.

Dean scowled at him again. "I'm fine, Sam. It was just rocksalt."

"You always say that," Sam replied, trying to keep his temper. He lost that worse than he ever thought possible already today. "Let me check you out."

Dean's scowl dropped away, replaced by something else. "Dude," Dean breathed, suddenly way too far in Sam's personal space, "how bad does that hurt?"

Dean's fingers brushed against his cheek. Sam leaped backwards, stumbling against the bed and falling back. He rolled off the foot of the bed onto the floor, on his ass. That was hard enough to crack his tailbone, surely. Tears sprang to his eyes as he attempted to roll slowly to the side, to take the pressure off.

"Sam?" Dean crouched in front of him, at matching eye level. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shook his head. "Dude, I don't swing that way."

The last thing he expected was the sound he heard now: Dean laughing. "Well, at least that explains that crap you were spouting earlier about me and Dad." Dean sat on the floor in front of him. "The first time I met him, I remember saying the exact same thing."

Sam's jaw dropped. "No way. Dad made a move on you?"

Dean grinned, but Sam could see there was humor in it and not anything more. "He asked me out to dinner. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that he was only after some information about a Wendigo. I really thought it was my magnificent bod."

Sam laughed despite himself.

"So does this mean you'll let me check out your jaw?" Dean asked, standing. "I promise to take a cold shower."

Sam shook his head. "Just so long as you let me check your rocksalt wounds that I caused. If you got an infection or something…"

"Yeah, yeah. You'd probably never forgive yourself. Well, if you're going to have your hands all over me, I'd better take that cold shower first, huh?" Dean said with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not letting go of this one, are you?"

"Let go? Dude, this is gold!"