It was terribly confusing. He smelled sweat, but not urine or shit or puke. He smelled sex, but only faintly. Where were the icy shackles on his wrists or the hooks through his palms? A moment of guilt and fear flashed through him and he wasn't certain why then he realized that he was laying flat, on soft cushions, a warm blanket over him. He couldn't recall the last time he had laid in a soft bed and been warm.

He didn't hurt. Well, he did, but at this point the aching muscles and soreness of his ass were hardly worth noting. He felt arms and a power wrapped protectively around him, immediately recognizing that power as his brother's. It was Dean who held him. He didn't care if he were still in Azazel's grasp, still serving him, so long as Dean was unharmed and better still, in his arms.

Lying there a few minutes longer he could make out items in the room and slowly the strangely familiar shapes brought back memories of when he was a child. The large dresser, the vanity with its oval mirror, the rocking chair, the funnel shaped light shade on the lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. Jim's. They were at Pastor Jim's.

Puzzling these facts out, he fought through the fog of his memories.

Azazel was dead. The only chains he felt were those binding his soul to Dean. He smiled. Things were still a bit fuzzy and after a moment he realized there were still runes scribed into him. He could tell some of them tried to short circuit his memory and he felt a few things slip away. But not who he was. Not who Dean was. Not where he was. Not that he was free.

He couldn't help himself. He began to laugh.

When Dean first began to wake he’d thought the younger man was crying.

The sounds he’d heard coming from his brother, the way the younger man trembled in his arms, had Dean awake instantly. Pushing himself and looking down at Sam with no small amount of concern. Worry at the forefront of his mind.

What had upset Sam so? Maybe it was a dream? Had a nightmare woken the younger man?

Anger flashed through Dean at whatever had caused it, not even knowing what it was yet. Hadn’t Sam suffered enough pain? Why was he constantly unable to protect his brother from it?

However as he looked down at the younger man in his arms, Dean realized quickly that Sam was not crying. The expression on his brother’s face was not of despair. Sam wasn’t crying… he was laughing? Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion, the worry he felt not fading despite this unexpected turn of events.

“Sam?”

Sam didn't mean to wake his brother up and the sudden concern he saw on Dean's face almost made him feel guilty. But he couldn't feel guilty, he was too damned happy and relieved. He pulled Dean down on top of him and kissed him, a grin on his face when he released him then rolled Dean over so he was on top of him.

"We're free, Dean. Azazel is dead. He doesn't have hold over you or me. The thing that killed our mom is dead! No demon war, no demonic invasion. An angel said both of us can get to Heaven. No more torture, ever. No more fearing that when we die it's a guarantee we're going to end up on a rack for all eternity! Yeah, I'm not quite fixed yet, more runes to remove," he made a face at that, "but soon they'll all be gone. Then just you and me. Working on redeeming the hell out of ourselves, proving we don't belong in Hell."

He kissed Dean again then pushed himself out of bed. Not bothering with his briefs, he pulled on his pants and looked back at Dean. Holding a hand out to him he said, "C'mon, I want to see Dad and Bobby and Jim. And I'm fucking starved."

Dean was still confused, still worried, and taken a little by surprise when Sam suddenly pulled him down into a deep kiss. But not surprised enough that he didn’t respond immediately. He felt his brother’s smile against his lips before the younger man flipped them over, pinning him beneath Sam, and Dean looked at his brother perplexed. His worry beginning to fade a bit when it seemed Sam was fine… better than fine even… even though Dean was still a little confused…

Then Sam began to speak and Dean’s confusion evaporated, and utter relief and joy replaced it. Not so much because of what Sam was telling him, but the fact that his brother remembered it all. Sam remembered.

Dean laughed as well then. His own smile splitting his face so wide it almost hurt. The joy he’d felt initially, Azazel dead, Sam safe, had been dampened when he realized his brother’s memories were gone. But now that joy was back, and Dean wanted nothing more than to take his brother in his arms, hold and kiss him breathless and just… love him… without any fear, without any regret, without any guilt, or anger clouding his joy.

But Sam pulled away from him after only a quick kiss, started to pull on his clothes, and even if Dean wanted to he couldn’t feel regret. He only nodded and then laughed when Sam admitted how hungry he was. No surprise after the workout that Dean had given him. Dean pushed himself up from the bed as well, grabbing his jeans from the floor and putting them on, before taking Sam’s offered hand. Grinning at Sam as he tugged the younger man close and gave him another kiss before he forced himself to loosen his hold on his brother and let him go.

To his family…

Sam wasn't certain he had ever seen Dean smile like that. It was so pure and he realized it mirrored the smile on the young boy's face in one of the pictures his father had of his four year old older brother. It was Dean. His older brother. Safe. Home. Loved. With Sam.

Sam welcomed the kiss but he really did want to see everyone and he was starved. He knew if he let Dean get away with it it would be a while before they got out of the bedroom. He was shocked when Dean released him. Running his fingers through Dean's hair, he smiled. "I love you, Dean."

He grabbed Dean's arm and steered him out into the hallway. Rumsfeld bounded down the hall to greet them, excitedly dancing around them, barking playfully, his tail wagging. Sam laughed at his enthusiasm.

The sun was near setting and Sam could smell the lingering scent of fried chicken. Pastor Jim made the best damned fried chicken he had ever tasted. Walking into the kitchen he saw the remains of dinner spread across the table, the men still sitting in their chairs. All eyes turned to him and Dean.

Sam gave Dean's shoulder a light squeeze then approached his father. John stood and Sam hugged him so hard as if to never let him go.

"It's good to see you Dad," Sam said, choking up.

Dean smiled at his brother’s words, barely able to keep himself from pulling the younger man close and kissing Sam again. Though he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the gentle touch of his brother’s fingers running through his hair with a pleasant sigh. Later. He would show Sam just how much he loved him later. Right now Sam wanted to eat and to see his family.

So Dean simply followed Sam out of the room, laughing a little at the dog’s excited greeting. He pet Rumsfeld on the head and scratched behind his ear, since the animal seemed to enjoy that so much. Then followed Sam down the hall, the dog happily trailing right behind him on his heels.

Dean was grateful when he smelled the food coming from the kitchen area. That meant that Sam wouldn’t have to wait to eat. When they got to the dining room area the older men looked as though they’d already eaten, and Dean hoped there was some left. Enough for Sam at least. Dean could certainly go without if he had to, as long as Sam was fed.

Dean remained where he was standing in the doorway of the dining room, giving Sam a small smile and watching as his brother approached his dad. Though he honestly wasn’t sure what he felt when he watched the older man stand and Sam hug him tightly. It certainly wasn’t jealousy or sadness. If Dean had to put a name to the feeling, he’d say it was… longing…

***

John Winchester had spent most of the afternoon outside working on the Impala. Not that he doubted that Bobby had been taking good care of the car while the other man had been holding it for Sam, but it had been a long time and… it gave him something to do outside. Rather than inside where despite the fairly decent soundproofing that Jim’s house had they could all hear Sam and dean when they were… together…

At least he wasn’t the only one. Jim had decided to do some gardening and Bobby had split his time between helping him with the Impala and on the phone with his insurance agent to get the money he needed for repairing the damage to his home that freak “tornado” had caused. At least John had some money set aside to help with the repairs if his old friend needed it. It was the least he could do, though he didn’t offer yet. Knowing his friend would turn down anything he considered a hand out.

He hadn’t really been concerned when neither Sam nor Dean emerged from the bedroom around lunch time. Though now that dinner had come and passed the three men were debating whether or not to go wake them or let them rest. They had to still be exhausted from everything they’d gone through (bedroom activities aside) and they could always heat up dinner later in the microwave even if fried chicken wasn’t as good reheated.

That was about when they heard the bedroom door open and Bobby’s dog immediately jumped up and ran down the hall to greet the two young men. John couldn’t help but chuckle at the dog’s antics. The dog loved children and Sam had always loved playing with the animal whenever he stayed with Bobby, but John was still surprised what a special bond the animal seemed to have with Dean. Practically glued to the young man’s side whenever he was around.

John’s eyes went to the doorway immediately when his son… sons… emerged and he could see something was different right away. He could see it the minute his eyes met Sam’s. Recognition. John felt his eyes misting over even before he stood and suddenly his son’s arms were around him in a vice like hold. His own arms circling the younger man in a tight bear hug, the relief he felt so immense it left him feeling weak. His own throat closing up a little hearing the hitch in Sam’s voice.

“Good to see you too, Son.” John finally managed with just as much emotion.

Sam just held his father for a minute. He had almost lost his Dad. Too many times and in too many ways. "I know we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, Dad, and I know we're still going to butt heads, but let's never be such asses that we let so much time pass again without seeing or talking to each other, okay?"

He clapped his father on his back and turned to the other two men. He hesitated a moment as the runes struggled to erase their names and memories of them from Sam's mind. He fought it and shook his head. He smiled then.

"Bobby, Jim, it's good to see you. Don't take offense if I suddenly forget who you are, okay? We've still got more runes to get rid of and they're determined little bastards," He said as he reached across the table and shook each of their hands.

"Good to have you back, boy, both of you," he said, giving a glance and nod to Dean.

Jim clasped Sam's hand in both of his. "I'm glad you're okay. But I don't ever want to do that again. Just so we're clear."

Bobby gave Jim a little shove on the shoulder. "What are you talkin' bout? You got to meet an angel of God. How many priests can say that? Well, sane priests, anyhow."

Laughing softly Jim released Sam's hand. "He wasn't exactly pleased to show himself."

John began laughing then. "You have no idea Jim. I see where demons get their traits of arrogance from. And righteousness? That angel had it in spades. With demons you at least know they're going to trick or manipulate you. Angels just do whatever pleases them, or rather, what they feel is right and just in the eyes of God."

Jim cocked an eyebrow at John. "And I think I will have to pick your brain for everything you learned about angels."

Shaking his head, John said, "No. Briathos wouldn't be pleased by that, and it's a poor strategy to write down information about the good guys that the bad guys could lay their hands on."

Sam smiled at the three. He didn't really remember anything about angels though he vaguely recalled his father collapsing once they had left Azazel's little slice of reality and the brilliant light that had poured out of him. He wasn't sure if that was due to the runes or simply the screwed up condition he had been in…or because of the things Azazel had done to him. His eyes clouded over a moment, some of those things showing sharp and clear in his mind's eye. A light bulb over the sink blew. Sam winced.

"Uh, sorry. I'm still kind of learning about control." Sam grimaced. He apparently still had a shitload of training to do. He still wielded his powers with emotions as the driving force and he had to learn to disentangle his emotions from his powers. Reluctantly he acknowledged he felt the craving to release his powers full force on something, anything, just to see its destruction. Using the powers was addictive and one habit he was simply going to have to break, or at least learn to manage it.

Holding his hand out to Dean, he shrugged a little. "Guess you're still elected to be my teacher."

When Dean took his hand, Sam pulled him into the chair at one of the two place settings.

"I trust you left us lots of dinner? I feel like I haven't eaten in a week. And ice tea. I really want some of Jim's sweet sun tea if there's any?"

Dean watched Sam with a small smile on his face, happy because Sam was so happy. He was also relieved that he no longer had to pretend to be the master anymore for Sam. At least, he wouldn’t once the final runes were removed. Soon everything would be as it should. He would give his soul back to Sam, and then…

He didn’t know what was going to happen. For the first time in his life he wasn’t certain of his purpose, but Dean was more than content to let Sam guide him.

It was then Dean noticed a shadow pass over the younger man’s face. Something dark… and painful… It was almost like Dean could see the memories going through Sam’s mind’s eye. Memories Dean didn’t have to imagine, not only because he had seen Sam experience it, but he had experienced it firsthand too. Dean took a step forward to his brother in concern, wanting to comfort the younger man in any way he could, right before he felt the buildup of power in Sam and the light bulb shattered. Bringing everyone’s attention back to Sam and Dean saw the younger man hide the memories away again quickly behind a smile.

Dean said nothing. Though he felt both angry and sad at the same time. He should have known with the return of Sam’s memories, that meant all his memories of his time with Azazel would return as well. If there was one thing Dean wished his brother could forget, it was that. But even knowing how painful those memories were for his brother, Dean could not wish them away if it meant that Sam would forget himself too.

Though when his brother held out his hand to him, Dean took it willingly. Giving his brother a small reassuring smile, he sat in the chair Sam indicated. Slipping his hand out of Sam’s only so he could move it to the back of his brother’s neck. Gently massaging and petting the younger man’s soft hair. Having eyes only for Sam as the other men got up to bring his brother his dinner.

Sam sighed softly as Dean's fingers tickled the nape of his neck in between a pleasant bit of massage.

As Jim pushed himself to his feet like John and Bobby, he said, "Of course there are plenty of leftovers and I made an extra jar of sun tea, knowing how much you like it. The chicken should still be warm, but the potatoes and gravy probably need heating up as do the lima beans."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Lima beans?"

"I thought you liked lima beans," Jim said standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

Sam flushed a little. "You were always so great to me and Dad. You think I was going to complain you gave me lima beans?"

Jim shook his head with a smile. "Okay, I'll heat some green beans up in the microwave. Is there anything else you don't like?"

"Rhubarb-strawberry pie. Jim, that's just so wrong on a level I can't begin to describe. Vegetables don't belong in a fruit pie."

Laughing, Jim walked into the kitchen. He was glad the sink was well away from the food even though the food was covered. They just hadn't gotten around to putting it away, having only finished shortly before the boys came in. Bobby handed John the sun tea from inside the refrigerator, followed by a tray of ice cubes.

Within a few minutes they had filled plates for both Sam and Dean. John carried the plates out, while Bobby brought the glasses of tea and Jim brought in the pitcher of tea and a plate of steaming, home made biscuits.

John slid the plates in front of each of the boys. "There's more in the kitchen if you want," he told them.

"Thanks, Dad," Sam said. He started to reach for a biscuit, hesitated, then forced himself to take one, refusing to acknowledge the spike of fear that shot through him. After another moment of hesitation, he set it on Dean's plate then smiled at his lover.

"Your turn. You try. You are still," and Sam grinned, "the master right now. Would you get me a biscuit from the plate?" Dean would have to eventually learn to get food that wasn't given to him. Azazel had beat it into Sam in just a few short weeks that he took nothing that wasn't given to him. He didn't expect Dean to overcome that same belief, a lifetime of that training, quickly. Maybe never. But if he got Dean to take food to give to him, then down the road he could take that food and give it to Dean. Eventually he hoped he could get Dean over it completely, but he had no delusions that it would be anytime soon.

At least now he understood so much more about how Dean's thought process worked. He would never want to experience such torture and torment again, but a few positive things had come out of it. Any little silver lining was a blessing but there was a whole lot of things he never wanted to ever even think about again.

Since Sam gave him no indication that he wanted Dean to stop, the elder man continued gently rubbing and massaging the back of the younger man’s neck until the older men returned with his brother’s food. Dean reluctantly let his hand fall away then, though he let his fingertips trail over Sam’s shoulder and down his arm before his hand fell back to his side. He gave John Winchester a small nod of thanks when a plate was set in front of him as well as his brother. Dean wasn’t feeling all that hungry right now, despite the fact that they’d slept through most of the day and all their activity earlier should have helped him work up an appetite. Maybe he was simply too relieved and happy that Sam was back that he didn’t care much about anything else. But he would eat anyway, even if Rumsfeld ended up getting most of the portion on his plate.

Of course Dean was watching Sam, so he noticed immediately the younger man’s hesitation when he began to reach for the biscuits on the table. Slight enough that the other men might not have noticed it, but Dean did. His heart constricted a little, that small bit of hesitation another reminder that even though his brother was back he would never be the same. Because Dean had failed to protect him as he’d promised. Because he’d let Azazel take his brother…

Dean wasn’t really surprised when the younger man placed the food on his plate, but when Sam turned to him unexpectedly and asked him to get him a biscuit Dean’s eyes widened and he felt himself pale a bit. His eyes shifted away from Sam to the plate of food, looking at it like it was a snake about to bite him.

It had been easy to give Sam food before because the other men had given it to him first. As long as it was given to him, Dean could do pretty much anything he wanted with it. But to simply take… But Sam, his master (even though Sam had just called him the master…) had ordered him to take it, to give it to him. Dean swallowed hard, reaching out slowly to the plate, waiting for the punishment he knew could come at any time. But his hand froze half way there and Dean’s eyes flickered helplessly to his Dad sitting across from him.

John saw Sam's pause and the slight look of fright that entered his eyes, followed almost immediately by grim determination. Bobby had talked to Jim and himself about Dean's inability to take food, that it had to be given to him, the same way when Sam didn't remember that he had to wait for food to be given to him. He was proud of Sam for fighting the demon's terrible conditioning.

John's eyes shifted to Dean with Sam's request and saw how his boy paled. He watched at Dean struggled to do as Sam said, tried to reach out to the plate of warm biscuits. Seeing his son freeze in obvious fright made his heart practically break and anger flared inside him. That damned demon had crippled Dean, made him dependant on the demon just that much more. If the demon had wanted to, hell, probably had, taunted Dean, starving him with a feast of food within reach and Dean unable to take any of it with fear of brutal reprisal. He wished they could have captured the demon and made that bastard suffer the way it had made his sons suffer. At least it was dead and with time, he and Sam might be able to rebuild Dean and take away those horrible fears drilled into him. He wondered ever so briefly if Sam hadn't taken Dean on as a …lover…if Dean would have made the progress he already had toward becoming his own man. Reluctantly, John knew Dean probably wouldn't have. Dean would either be dead or still serving Azazel, and Sam would still be in the demon's clutches being trained to lead a demon army for the fallen angel. Trained such that Sam would have been like Dean, gleeful in the torture and destruction of anything that crossed his path or that the demon told him to seek out.

When Dean looked to him, to him, for help, John smiled at Dean, pleased that Dean once again need him, pleased that Dean held him in high enough regard that John could help him. "Son, if a serving plate of food is set on a table at a friend's house, it's being offered to you as readily as if it were on a plate in front of you. If the friend prays before a meal, you should wait for the prayer to end before taking food, and if it is the last item in the serving dish you should offer it to anyone else at the table. If no one else wants that last item, it's yours to have, to accept it as yours, without fear of punishment. You are at a friend's house now. The biscuits," and John reached out and nudged the plate toward Dean in offering, "are yours and Sammy's to eat if you would like to."

As Dean listened to the older man reassure him that it was all right for him to take the food, repeating much of what Sam and Bobby had already tried to explain to him once already, he wished he could say it made him feel better. It didn’t.

He was a “guest” in Jim’s home. The food was meant for everyone at the table. Sam had even asked him to, for Sam, not for him. They had told him over and over that the ways of demons and humans were different. He would not be punished if he touched the food that was not placed upon his plate…

But he could not shake the fear paralyzing him. A part of him fearful, in spite of everything, that this was only a test. It had happened before. His father had told him one thing, and then tested him. Dean hadn’t understood that they were tests. He hadn’t known what to obey… his father had taught him very quickly the difference. Was this a test now? Were they trying to see if they could make him disobey and then punish him afterwards?

Even as he thought it he knew that wasn’t true. Sam would not do that to him… Dad… would not do that to him. Would not try to confuse him that way. Yet… Azazel had taught him well… But he wanted to obey Sam. He had failed Sam so many times… he didn’t want to fail him anymore…

When John Winchester nudged the plate a little closer to him, Dean swallowed hard and forced his hand back into motion. Quickly snagging one of the biscuits off of the plate and dropping it on Sam’s like it was a red hot coal.

Then he simply sat there, still as stone, not even daring to breathe as he waited for the ax to fall. If it had been a test. If he’d failed. He’d know soon enough…

Sam watched Dean, feeling guilty that he was pushing Dean this way, and hating it when Dean froze, unable to do what Sam asked. Sam was surprised Dean turned to their dad. Dean barely knew their dad, but he was pleased to see it. Maybe some part of Dean did remember, if only a little, his real father.

He listened to his father try to convince Dean it was okay. Maybe their dad's words would reach Dean, maybe a different angle could get Dean to try. He kept his fingers crossed knowing how difficult this was for his brother.

When Dean snatched the biscuit and put it on his plate, Sam could have practically cried. He could see Dean was terrified he was going to be punished. At least Sam understood now. Previously he would have swept Dean into his arms, but he knew Dean was already on edge. Instead, he took Dean's hand and brought it to his lips.

"I'm so proud of you," Sam said, beaming. "I know how hard that was." He leaned over and with his other hand, turned Dean's head to face him. He kissed Dean deeply. "That was perfect. You did perfect. Didn't he Dad?"

John felt the air rush out of his lungs when he saw Dean screw on his courage and snatch the biscuit. He couldn't stop his own smile. It faltered a little when Sam kissed his brother, but he had to accept this was the way things were going to be. This was the way things had to be. So long as Dean was back with them, did it really matter? So the boys had the same parents. It wasn't as if they grew up together, not really. Well, they had, but they didn’t know the truth and had long ago developed the love they now shared physically. His smile broadened at Sam's question.

"Yes, better than perfect. He'll be sneaking food off your plate in no time," John said with a laugh. His eyes grew distant as he recalled a fond and cherished memory. "Dean used to grab Cheerios out of my bowl of cereal in the morning. Dripping milk everywhere, on the floor, on the table, down the front of his shirt, as he grinned and ate them. Your mother would scold you," John told Dean, "but the best she ever managed to do was to get you to eat them at the table so the milk just puddle up on the table. I wasn't any help because I thought it was funny as hell and encouraged you. Mostly because Mary would just fume at me for letting you get away with it. Though she got me back, believe me." John's eyes fairly shone with the recollection.

Sam had never heard that story before, but then, his father had rarely spoken of Dean or his mother for that matter. He could see the young boy from the pictures doing just what his father described and chuckled. Picking up the biscuit Dean had dropped on his plate, he bit into it. "Mmm, thank you, Dean. Tastes almost as good as you."

Proud.

Dean thought he could have wept at those words. With his brother’s gentle reassuring touch the tension in his body bled away and Dean felt himself actually smiling into the younger man’s kiss. Sam was proud of him. He had pleased Sam. That was all that mattered to him.

Though when John Winchester voiced that he was pleased as well, Dean wasn’t sure what he felt. It wasn’t the same kind of relief and joy he felt knowing that he had pleased Sam. It was different… but it was similar. His dad… daddy… was proud of him…

Though when the older man went on to say Dean would be sneaking food from his master’s plate in no time, he almost paled. He would never dare such a thing. He hoped that Sam knew that. Dean’s eyes turned to Sam, though the younger man seemed only amused by the notion. Especially as they listened to the elder Winchester describe how Dean had done similar things as a… child… things he didn’t remember. But…

Dean looked down at the table, but he didn’t see it or his plate in front of him. The table was also a lot… closer… or maybe he was just smaller. On the dark wood surface there were little puddles of milk everywhere, just as John Winchester had described, and little soggy letters spread out in front of him. He was munching on a few of the soggy letters, but he was arranging the others in a line.

”Lookie Daddy!” He finally cried, pointing to the letters on the table. Beaming up at the man sitting in the chair next to him and John Winchester put down the paper he’d been reading, turning to see what his son had been up to. The same look of love and pride on his face as he saw the four soggy words Dean had spelled out onto the table.

Dad. Mom. Sam. Love.

“They were Alphabits.” Dean blurted out suddenly. He wasn’t even sure where the name came from, it was simply there. Like the memory he wasn’t sure whether to trust or not.

John's eyebrows lifted when Dean said 'Alphabits.' He suddenly broke into laughter. "When you were younger they were Cheerios. Then Mary picked up the Alphabits because you were starting to learn your letters. We played games of naming the letters before you ate them and pretty soon you learned to spell a few words." His eyes shone and he looked between his boys. "Dean had his own bowl by then and did a pretty good job of feeding himself without too much of a mess," he told Sam then turned back to Dean, "Once you had eaten a little, then you started the hunt for letters. You would dig through your bowl for the ones you wanted. If you couldn't find them in yours, you'd hunt through mine. And then you'd hunt through your mom's. Using your fingers of course. You would make an absolute mess. Mary would have a fit, but," and he laughed again, "I noticed she never stopped you from hunting for the letters in her bowl."

Sam honestly couldn't recall any time in recent years when his Dad's eyes had reflected such happiness. When he had laughed like he was laughing now. His father must have been so very different before the fire that had stolen away half their family. He wondered if it had never happened if the two of them would have still butted heads. Yeah, probably, he decided.

"You need to get out all the pictures Dad," Sam said. "Tell us both about them. Maybe Dean will remember more."

John hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Jim's got a copy of them on CD somewhere. I'll ask him to find them. So what are you boys going to do this evening?"

Sam shrugged. "Still have more runes to get off me, but that we'll do before we go to bed. Help you three clean up from dinner. Maybe Rumsfeld can convince Dean to throw the ball for him for a little while," he said grinning at Dean. Rumsfeld, who had been lying beside Dean's chair sat up at the sound of his name, his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

"Dean always loved dogs," John said with a smile. "We were going to get him one for Christmas. A German Shepherd."

Sam chewed on his lip a moment. "…Dad, I know it's gotta be weird, me and Dean…together."

John shook his head. "I'll deal with it, Sammy. Dean's alive. He's home. You and me, we're talking again. I got both my sons back. That's more important than anything else. Though," he gave a small smile, "if you two are going to stay together, Dean might want to choose a different last name. Maybe his middle name. Mathew. That was my older brother's name, you know."

"I didn't even know his middle name," Sam admitted as he began digging into dinner. He looked over at Dean. He started to ask him what he wanted to do this evening, but he knew. Whatever Sam wanted was what Dean wanted. And now he understood that. Before they left, he would have to make a point of getting Dean alone with each of the other men, do some things without Sam being there. Maybe Dean would find things he liked and Sam could…no. That just wasn't the way it worked. Dean had to discover them on his own and then see that Sam approved of them. He would get bolder with time. There wasn't going to be any rushing this. Just like there wasn't going to be rushing Dean into the idea of Sam freeing him. Of Sam being his lover instead of his master. He had to admit, a part of him sort of panicked at the thought of not having a master, at the thought of Dean not owning his soul as he did now. Jesus, Azazel was fucking good at getting into your head.

He jerked his chin toward Dean's plate. "Eat at least a little, Dean. Or go play with Rumsfeld if you aren't hungry. Or you can sit here and get more tales of your misspent youth out of Dad."

Dean found himself smiling as their dad filled in some of the blank pieces of his past, and it… comforted… him to know that the memory was real. It wasn’t just his imagination. He had truly had a life before Azazel. Before the demon had stolen him away from his family… Daddy, Mommy, and Sammy…

He hoped when he saw the pictures he would remember more. Maybe he would remember his mom… Dean knew that was probably a hopeless wish. He’d been so young, and up until he’d met Sam, Azazel, his ‘father’, was all he knew. Still he hoped.

When Sam looked at him and suggested that he eat, Dean nodded and started on the food from his plate. Glancing briefly at Rumsfeld when he heard the dog’s tail thumping on the floor, and he smiled. Taking some of the chicken from his plate and feeding it to the animal.

While he wasn’t very hungry and knew he would enjoy going outside and playing with the dog for a while before it got too dark, Dean found himself wanting to stay right where he was more. A part of him interested in hearing more stories, but more than that, just wanting to be here with his dad and brother. His family…

“I’ll stay.” He answered, giving the younger man a content smile.