Sorry for the delay - one of my editors fell off the radar, hope she's all right! (She's probably holed up doing her taxes.) Well, after having to pay the gov't, I decided I needed a little cheering up, so I'm posting!! Thanks again to Charis-Kalos and LaceyM and Kanarah J for all their proofing efforts! This section with The Benders ep is actually the whole reason for this AU and I'm particularly fond of it. (I hope the off-ep portion of this chapter meets with your approval as well.)

Chapter Seven: Brotherhood

(The Benders)

"Dean?" Sam glanced over, watching the man next to him walk. "What's wrong with your arm?"

Dean had been pressing his left arm against his side. Now his right hand dropped away. "Nothing. It's fine."

"You've been holding your left arm like that since we left. What happened?" Sam demanded. Sirens in the distance told him backup was arriving. That place would undoubtedly be a police hotbed for years considering the number of murders that had to have been committed by that family. Sam glared at him. "They hurt you, didn't they?"

Dean shrugged, walking away down the dark rural road. Sam gritted his teeth. It wasn't like he could do anything here anyway. They needed to get back to the car and their first aid kit. He almost laughed at himself. When did he start thinking of things as being 'theirs'? Dean just might be the sanest member of the Winchesters, saved by the virtue of genetics.

After a few miles, Sam could not be sure how far exactly, a rusted pickup drove past. It pulled off the road and stopped. As they approached, a man stepped out. "You boys break down or something?"

"Yeah, a few miles back," Dean called out. "Don't suppose you'd give us a lift into town?"

"Long as you don't mind riding in the back?" he gestured to the open bed of the pickup.

"No problem!" Sam shouted, wondering if he needed to help Dean up. As it turned out, Dean stepped up on the tailgate and right in, like he'd done it a thousand times. Well, Sam reflected, he might have. Sam followed Dean's example, but a little slower.

"All set! Thanks!" Dean shouted, leaning back against the cab. Sam leaned on the side until Dean motioned to him. "Over here, Sammy. Less wind."

Sam moved over to sit beside…his brother. The label still sounded strange, but he couldn't help but feel it was appropriate. The two had been through so much together. When Sam saw Dean tied to that chair, heard his voice bellowing threats through the house, Sam knew. If they had hurt Sam, really hurt him, he was sure Dean would have carried through on those death threats. When the cop killed Pa Bender, Dean apparently approved. Sam wondered what might have happened if she hadn't.

They bounced as the truck pulled back onto the road. The ride on the road was smoother, though not by much. "Dean? Why did she do it?" he asked, staring up at the night sky.

He felt Dean lean in some, until their shoulders just touched. "A few years ago her brother went missing. That was his car she asked about."

"So they killed her brother?" Sam asked. Well, it stood to reason. The Benders killed a lot of people. "You, uh, seemed to approve." He did not want to see the look on Dean's face, so he concentrated on picking out constellations. They were so much clearer out here than in town.

He felt Dean's shoulder move against his. "Couldn't blame her." Dean sighed, the sound almost lost in the noise from the road and truck engine badly in need of a tune-up. "Don't know how she's kept it together all this time."

Sam winced, grateful for the darkness shrouding their facial expressions. "Because she's a strong person, like you," he smiled internally. As if personal strength was any stranger to Dean. Images of his 'brother's' troubled past formed in his mind. He had survived losing his parents, all those foster homes, the abuse, moving out on his own at such a young age, and he still managed to end all of his sentences with a witty remark.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to town. Sam wondered if Dean even heard him, but he figured it was more likely that Dean ignored it. Comments like that didn't fit into Dean's universe. The truck stopped just inside town. Dean pounded the top of the cab shouting thanks before leaping off the side. Sam followed his brother's lead. They were only a few blocks from the motel here.

As they walked, Sam noticed Dean holding that left arm again. He was determined to see what was wrong there, Dean's stupid bravado be damned. They reached the motel and Dean turned to Sam. "You have the key?"

Sam frowned, patting down his pockets. "I think the Benders took mine. You?"

Dean shook his head. "Cops."

Sam's eyes widened. "You were arrested?"

Dean scowled. "Not officially."

"What does that mean, not officially?" Sam dogged, following Dean to the front desk.

"Well, I might have been cuffed, but she never took me in," Dean explained, opening the door. "Excuse me?" he said, walking up to the desk. "We locked our keys in the room. Can I get a replacement?"

The clerk rolled his eyes before producing another key for their room. Dean thanked him, taking the card key with flourish before leading Sam to the room. The instant the door closed, Dean sunk down on the closest bed. "I'm just going to grab a few hours. Feel free to stay up."

"Oh, no, you don't." Sam walked over, pulling Dean back up. "Give me the car keys."

Dean frowned at him, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

"How did the cop get the room key but not the car keys?" Sam asked, taking them.

"Dude, you gotta have priorities." Dean shook his head like Sam should have known better, laying back. "Don't stay out too late," he said as his eyes closed.

Sam rolled his eyes, heading out the door. The car was still in the parking lot, right where they left it before walking over to the bar where the whole mess started. He took out the first aid kit before locking the car again. Sam headed back to their room, determined to see why Dean's arm bothered him so much.

Typical, Dean was already out. Too bad, Sam thought, setting the plastic box on the nightstand. Sam checked Dean's left shoulder and found a hole in his shirt. A burn hole. He sucked in his breath through his teeth. "Oh, Dean," he whispered. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for what had to happen next. "Dean! Wake up, man! I need to check your shoulder."

"Fine. It's fine," Dean muttered. "Just need to sleep."

"No," Sam insisted, grabbing the good shoulder to pull him up, "I need to look at it. Come on."

Dean groaned, wincing as he pulled off his shirt. It was the wince that got Sam. Dean never admitted to pain, much less showed it. Then he saw the scars. Thick, knotted lines pulled across the top of his chest, culminating in a criss-crossed mess over his left shoulder. He racked his memory of the past few months, but Sam could not recall having seen Dean with his shirt off. The time he checked those rocksalt wounds, Dean had just lifted up his shirt to reveal the bruised skin, never removing it. He stared until a dazed Dean asked, "Is it that bad, Sam?"

Sam's eyes darted to the wide burn on Dean's shoulder. "What the hell did they do?" he asked softly, reaching for the first aid kit without taking his eyes off his brother.

Dean shrugged. "Like I told you, demons I get. People are crazy."

Sam could only nod. "What did they use?" he had to tear his eyes away to find the burn cream, then he debated on whether or not to take Dean to the hospital.

"I think it was one of those poker things," Dean replied, waiting patiently.

"A fireplace poker?" Sam asked, astounded. He mumbled under his breath while looking for the bottle of painkillers, "It's a good thing she shot him."

Dean chuckled. "Gee, Sammy, you almost sound like you care."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, handing over two pills. "Take those."

Dean shrugged, popping them dry. Sam decided not to wait until the pills could take effect. Dean would probably be asleep long before then. "Come on, we need to get you to the bathroom."

"Sammy, I'm tired," Dean whined. "Can't we do this in the morning?"

"No," Sam snapped. Dean was not exactly the whining type. "You're either going to let me, or we go to the ER." When Dean did not move, he added, "Or I call an ambulance."

"Pain in my ass," Dean grumbled, standing up. He shot Sam a glare as he made his way into the bathroom.

Sam followed. "Sit on the edge of the tub," Sam ordered. "Left side in."

Dean sighed but he complied, leaning back against the tile. Sam ran just the cold water as he sat on the closed toilet. He grabbed one of the plastic cups off the bathroom counter and ripped the sanitary cover off, letting it fall to the floor. Cup after cup of cool water went over Dean's shoulder until he started giving Sam the evil eye.

"This isn't just an excuse to see me without my shirt?"

"Shut up," Sam said, snagging a clean towel. He dried the area around the wound before applying the burn cream and covering the whole thing with some fresh gauze and taping it in place. "We're getting that checked out tomorrow," Sam informed him. "It looks pretty bad."

"But I can go to bed now?" Dean asked, half-lidded eyes pleading with him.

"Sure," Sam replied, hoping that meant the pain killers were working. When Dean stumbled on the way to bed and Sam had to catch him, he knew the pain pills had kicked in.

"You wouldn't be so worried about me if you knew," Dean chuckled, letting Sam guide him into bed.

Sam frowned. "If I knew what?" he asked. Since the heart attack thing, Sam had trouble imagining his life without Dean in it. Okay, that was weird, wasn't it? This was just some guy Dad met on a routine job who managed to worm his way into their family, and Sam had become pretty attached.

Really attached.

Too attached.

No wonder motel clerks kept getting the wrong idea, with him hovering protectively in the background.

"I gave you up," Dean said, sinking into the bed. "They said I had to choose."

"Choose?" Sam pulled the covers up, careful not to come close to the burn. "What do you mean, choose?"

Dean's eyes closed, his breathing slowing. "Figured you'd have a better chance than the chick." His eyes snapped open. "But they lied, Pa told them to shoot you in the cage. What happened?"

Sam's rage boiled over. "You mean they did that," he motioned to the burn, "to force you to choose which one of us they'd hunt next?"

Dean nodded, eyes open and honest. "What happened, Sam? How did you get out?"

Sam sat on the edge of Dean's bed. "They're about as smart as they look."

One side of Dean's mouth curled up. "Atta boy!" He settled into the bed. "Thanks for coming to get me anyway, Sam."

"Dean?" Sam rested his hand on Dean's unhurt shoulder. His brother's eyes fluttered open, fighting against the pull of the pain pills. "Next time, give me up before they start torturing you."

"Next time," Dean replied, and Sam could tell by the twinkle in his eye this would be a dig, "don't be such a killjoy and take off without me."

"I won't."

"Right," Dean snorted, eyes closing for the last time that night.

Sam sighed before getting ready for bed. He passed his wallet on the nightstand. He eyed it for a moment before opening it and removing the Jerry Whitehead ID. Sam ran a finger along the edge, contemplating his next course of action.

He pulled the metal wastebasket over, sitting on his bed. With another glance at Dean, he took Dean's lighter off the nightstand between their beds. It took nearly a minute for Jerry's ID to catch, but Sam was patient. When the flames threatened to burn his fingers, he dropped the ID into the wastebasket. He watched it burn, the plastic shriveling and blackening, until the picture and name were nothing but a lump of smoldering black. Satisfied, Sam replaced Dean's lighter on the nightstand before swinging his legs into the bed. That was one less thing he needed to worry about.

--

(Between Eps)

Sam sat up, his sleep-addled brain trying to place the sound that woke him. Finally his eyes hit on Dean's cell. Oh, right, that was it. He snagged it off the nightstand to look at caller id. It just displayed a number. He glanced over at Dean's sleeping form. His brother still looked kind of pale from his treatment at the hands of those damned Benders.

Sam flipped the phone open. "Hello?" He stifled a yawn.

"Jerry?" A woman's voice came through the phone. She sounded like she had been crying. "Jerry, honey, is that you?"

Sam frowned at the wall. "No, sorry. He's asleep. Can I help you?"

"Who are you?" she demanded with a crack in her voice.

"My name is Sam," he said, wondering if he should wake Dean. "Dean – uh, Jerry, really needs his sleep. Can I have him call you back?"

He heard her take a deep breath. "He can call me if he wants. Tell him Ella called. His best friend from high school, Tom, was just… It was a car wreck. The funeral is next week."

Sam sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe I should wake him up. Hang on."

He set the phone down before moving to Dean's bed. Grabbing his brother by the good shoulder, Sam shook him awake.

"Huh?" Dean's eyelids moved slowly. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"It's about Tom," he said, only now realizing that Jerry's best friend was named Tom. Oh, God, how much teasing did they have to put up with?

"What about him? How'd he get this number?" Dean asked, holding out a hand for his phone.

Sam slapped the phone into his outstretched hand. "It's somebody named Ella. Tom's dead." Yeah, okay, so Sam wasn't exactly up on how to break bad news.

Dean frowned as he took the phone. "Hello? … Ella? How did you get this number? … Yeah, Sam told me. Thanks for calling. … I don't see where that's any of your business. … I don't know. I'll think about it. … Don't hold your breath on that. Maybe we'll see you at the funeral. … Bye."

Sam sat next to his brother on the bed. "You okay?"

Dean shrugged, setting the phone back on the nightstand. "I haven't talked to Tom since graduation. He went off to college someplace. Didn't have time for me anymore."

"Still." Sam tilted his head to one side, wondering if it would give him a better view of what was going on in the other man's head. "He was your best friend."

Dean shook his head and stretched, his right arm going much higher than the left. "That was another life, Sam."

"Do you want to go? We can go," Sam offered, not wanting Dean to think he had to do it alone.

Dean eyed him shrewdly. "Trying to get back behind the wheel of my car, aren't you?"

"I'm not kidding, Dean. If you want to go, we'll go," Sam insisted. "Who's Ella?"

Dean sighed as he leaned against the headboard. "She was my foster mother."

"Which one?" Sam asked, trying to remember just how many foster parents Jerry had had over the years.

"The last one," Dean said, with a little too much emphasis.

Sam stared for a moment. "The one whose boyfriend beat the crap out of you?" He would like to get his hands on that bastard.

"Don't even think about it," Dean warned, as if the thought had been plastered all over Sam's face. "But yes, that one." Dean chuckled and shook his head at Sam.

"What?" Sam demanded.

Dean shook his head again. "Dude, Dad always said you were way too good at the research. Now I get it."

"How did she get your number?" Sam asked, still burning with curiosity.

Dean shrugged. "I might've called an old girlfriend a couple of months back. Just to talk. She and Ella always got along."

"Oh." Sam thought that one over. "Was that when you were, uh…" He still had trouble talking about the heart attack.

"Dying?" Dean asked, a thin smile on his face. Honestly, his brother's cavalier attitude about it really ticked him off sometimes. "Yeah, it was."

Sam stared at the door for a minute before meeting Dean's eyes again. "So?" he asked. "When is the funeral?"

Dean shook his head. "Forget it, Sam. We're not going."

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "Are you afraid of letting me meet your old friends?"

"Yep." Dean yawned as he slid back down into bed. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Puzzled, Sam stared for a moment. "We're really not going? Because you don't want me to meet your old friends?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're not going because I haven't heard from Tom in, like, ten years. Hell, after graduation I heard from my freaking ex-foster mother more than him. I think he only hung out with me because I had my own apartment." His eyes closed. "Don't need to hang around with losers like that anymore."

"So… You wouldn't be ashamed to let me meet your old friends?" Sam asked uncertainly.

One moss-green eye peeked out through a slitted eyelid. "Dude, you serious? I'd be ashamed for you to meet those losers." He snorted as the eye closed again. "Not to mention the stories they'd probably tell you."

Sam couldn't hold back the grin spreading over his face. "I know where you're from. I could just drive us there."

"Not with two broken arms," Dean growled.

Sam chuckled, slapping Dean in the leg as he stood. "Yeah, okay. I'd still like to meet Ella sometime."

Dean snorted, eyes still closed. "Why? So you can chew her out? Forget it, Sam. He beat her up for years before I could convince her to move out. She's been through enough."

Sam looked down, a fresh wave of confusion rising up. "You didn't exactly sound friendly with her on the phone."

A long sigh escaped from Dean. His eyes opened and locked on Sam. "If you were a dog, you'd be one that was a cross between Marmaduke and one of those annoying little terriers."

Sam grinned. Did that mean he was getting an answer? Dean pushed himself up and motioned to the end of the bed. "Okay, it's probably past time for this crap anyway." He waited until Sam sat back down. "Just because I don't want to punish Ella for what happened doesn't mean I don't still blame her. Yeah, I know, it sounds weird." He grinned suddenly, the bright smile out of place in the conversation. "Welcome to Jerry's life."

Sam shook his head at his brother. "No, thanks. I'll stick with Dean." He spread his hands wide. "If that's okay with you."

"Whatever." Dean shrugged. "So, any other questions?"

Sam settled in, perfectly comfortable at the foot of Dean's bed. Yeah, he had more questions. He wanted to know about the other foster homes and what it was like to grow up as Jerry. He asked about the Wendigo attack that killed Jerry's parents. It was shocking to learn just how little Dean remembered of his life before the attack. When Dean's yawns appeared real and not just a distraction, Sam shoved his brother back in bed with orders to go back to sleep.

He headed out the door on a food run. As the Impala roared to life, Sam was struck with a brilliant idea. He fished his phone out to place a floral delivery order in Jerry's hometown, where the funeral would be. At the very least, Tom's family deserved to see flowers from his former best friend. He wondered how many people would wonder over the 'and Sammy' he asked them to put on the card.