Title: Family Ties

Author: Milliecake

Rating:T for language and graphic depictions

Summary: A seemingly straightforward small town haunting for the boys leads Dean into conflict with something equally as daunting – their grandparents.

Spoilers: Yes, lots. Now go watch every episode twice so I don't spoil anything for you

Disclaimer: Don't own them, but boy if I did! Oooh hot flush...

Author's Notes: I couldn't find reference to the parents of either John or Mary Winchester in the show, so I'm using creative licence instead of fact.

OoOoO

"...and the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
So in her I do confide
And she keeps me satisfied
Gives me all I need."

Mind heavy and full of sleep, Sam Winchester rested his tousled head against the cool glass of the impala's passenger window, listening drowsily to the moody, depressive strains of Metallica streaming faintly from the radio. He'd never admit it, not in a thousand years, but he was beginning to understand his older brother's love of the dark music, lyrics that could catch him off guard in a moment, strike a chord somewhere inside that would echo deeper down.

The road had become a companion, a constant in their discordant lives, something that wouldn't abandon them or for that matter, let them go. And although Sam knew the lifestyle they were currently living would never keep him satisfied, his brief taste of normality still lingering, those lyrics could well have been written for his brother.

A loud bang on the metal roof of the car jerked Sam from his thoughts and he scrambled upright in sudden fright, before slumping in relief as he heard Dean's chuckle.

"You asshole," he spat, clutching his chest.

"Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty," his brother drawled, sliding into the driving seat with breakfast in one hand, casually tossing a newspaper into his passenger's lap. "I think I got us another gig."

Scrubbing away the remnants of his earlier, restless slumber, Sam fumbled for the paper. "Jackass," he muttered, absently, as he blinked down at what appeared to be the local rag mag.

Dean simply grinned and took a sip from his styrofoamed cup, wincing as the hot liquid scalded his already puffy lower lip. "Ow goddammit."

Ignoring his fussy bitching, Sam unfolded the newspaper. A young woman stared with an American pie smile from the second page, cute in the cheerleader who marries the quarter back type of way, while another photo of the crime scene, scattered with the local law, sat underneath. But it was the stark headlines that caught Sam's attention.

"Twenty year old murder comes back to haunt town," he echoed, a frown marring his forehead. "The body of Amber Collins, 19, was discovered in the parking lot of Deighton Height's local town library in the early hours of Monday morning. The police are not ruling out that this may be a copy cat killing reminiscent of the murder of Colleen Haley over twenty years earlier."

"Did a little asking round," Dean said, passing Sam the second coffee. "Legend has it the town library is haunted by this Haley chick, murdered same location back in the eighties. Scattered reports of sudden chills, flickering lights, books falling off shelves by themselves, that whole run of the mill haunting thing. Nothing deadly though."

"Until now. So you're thinking woman in white? Maybe something's stirred up the ghost twenty years on?" Sam hesitated, looking up, "Deighton Heights, I know that name from somewhere."

"It's not in Dad's journal."

Lowering the paper, Sam glanced at his brother, noting the tired lines, the slightly slumped posture. Though he'd deny it to his last breath, Dean had to be hurting from the latest pounding he'd taken, a pissed off serial killer's ghost that had bludgeoned his victims with a golf club in life, before turning pro in the afterlife.

Sam had caught up to his older brother in a backroom of the local hospital, bruised, bleeding and wild eyed, but in fighting spirit, calling out the 'psycho son of a bitch who messed with his face'. Ten rounds of rocksalt later they'd beaten down the Tiger Woods wannabe, before salting then burning the bones, abandoned in a locker for some scientific study years before.

And now Dean was all for chasing off on another hunt when what they really needed was to find their father and get some rest along the way.

"But what's to say the cops aren't right on this one, it could be a copy cat," Sam suggested, feeling slightly guilty. He didn't need his premonitions to tell him the supernatural was somehow involved, his gut already shouting that out loud and clear. But he didn't know any other way to get Dean to back off once he'd caught the scent of some evil.

His brother paused sipping his coffee and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "What, you wanna chance Officer Barbrady," he slapped the picture of the local law enforcement officer, "and his posse stumbling across a whacked out ghost. Come on man, local legend, confirmed sightings. It's definitely our area of shall we say, expertise."

"Dean…" Now Sam paused, searching for the words. He didn't want to deflate his brother's obvious enthusiasm, but there were other things to take into consideration. More worldly problems than vengeful spooks. "Look I'm not saying you're not right, but we're almost out of money and running low on gas and this town is like 200 miles out of our way. You said it yourself, we can't save everybody and we need to find Dad."

Again his brother stared at him like he'd just started speaking in tongues. For Dean's one-set hunter's mind, he might well have been.

"Dude, it's a side trip, that's all. We go in, burn ghost Barbie's bones and we're back on the main mission, back on track. What's the deal?"

Sam couldn't suppress a small, bitter laugh at that. "Since when have we ever been on track? We're no closer to finding Dad than we were six months ago." He took a steadying breath, before pushing quietly. "And you're exhausted."

"I'm fine." It was the standard automatic response and Sam could almost see his brother shutting down, the business like persona emerging in the wake of what could end up a potentially awkward conversation.

When it came to his wellbeing, Dean Winchester was as stubborn as their father. They fought, they got hurt, they pushed through the pain and continued onwards like good marines did. But their last few hunting trips had come one after another after another and Dean had come out worse for wear from the last one. Even Sam could see that, just like his beloved car, his brother was burning fumes.

Deighton Heights, Sam thought again, Deighton Heights, Deighton Heights…

The answer suddenly came to him and he couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. "Actually, you might be right," he told his brother, ignoring the surprised look Dean shot him. "I think this town might be just what we need."

"Ok, now you're scaring me," his brother said, deadpan. "Why the sudden turnabout? Some spooky vision hit you there Cordelia?"

Sam just smiled benevolently and gestured him to drive. Dean sighed and shook his head, but had moved to obey when both boys were distracted by the leggy brunette heading towards them from the diner. She went straight to Dean's window and he gave her a disarming grin.

"Hey Brad," she said, shyly, bending low enough to give them both and the entire street a not so shy view of her cleavage. "When we were talking earlier, I forgot to mention there's a motel just down the street in case you feel like…staying the night in town."

Drool clear up in aisle nine, Sam thought disgustedly as his brother practically leered at the woman. How Dean had managed to charm her in such short time, especially with the bruised lip and sliced cheekbone was as inexplicable as the things they hunted.

Then Dean flashed her his thousand dollar, cute-and-don't-I-know-it, smile.

Oh so that's how.

"You know," Dean began, shooting Sam a glance, "Sammy here was just saying we could do with a nice, warm, soft bed…to sleep in, of course."

"Of course," she echoed, with an equally predatorial look, fingering a strand of hair.

Of course. Sam rolled his eyes. She couldn't have signalled her availability more had she thrown off her bra and jumped in his brother's lap.

"So how about it?" Dean asked him, raising his eyebrows meaningfully, a pathetically hopeful look on his face.

Seeing that look, knowing Dean would have his way in more ways than one when it came to his overactive libido, Sam did the only thing he could. They had to get to Deighton Heights soon before another hunt called and cut that route off from them.

Reaching over, he placed an overly familiar hand on his brother's thigh, giving the girl a wide smile, before looking at a shocked, then annoyed Dean. His brother knew exactly what was coming and couldn't see a way to stop it.

"Oh but honey, we'll miss the Pride Festival," he all but cooed. Dean wasn't the only one comfortable enough to play the gay card if it meant humiliating his sibling. "And you know I'd prefer to be sleeping in our own bed than a motel's."

The woman backed off as if burned, looking stunned, then disappointed. "Oh, uh sorry," she said, awkwardly. "I didn't realise you two…uh, have a good…trip."

Then she was hurrying back to her pa's diner before Dean could protest, not looking back once.

Dean deliberately plucked Sam's hand from his leg. "I can't believe you just did that to me. Oh man..." He cast a longing glance at the diner's swinging doors. "That was some sweet piece of tail."

"Well, like you said Brad we need to get to this ghost before it hurts anyone else," Sam said, smugly.

"Bitch."

"Ho."

Dean flipped him the bird, then swung the impala in a tight arc, pulling out to the road in a cloud of dust. "Just one thing, baby brother," he said, casually, as Sam started on his cooling coffee. "I get to be on top."

He shot his brother a grin as Sam spluttered and choked on his drink, before flicking the volume on the radio and drowning the car with the next track.

OoOoO

Deighton Heights proved to be the quintessential town, a place where everybody knew everybody else's business, where customers were greeted by name and where strangers were treated cordially if not warmly.

Except leather clad, Chevy driving, out of towners apparently, Dean thought with a frown as he leant casually against his car, collar turned up against the cold. He watched the people watch him as they passed by and wondered what the hell was with that.

Ok so maybe Sam was more the people person, the endearing, shirt wearing, college boy with the puppy dog eyes and earnest smile. Didn't help him get laid though. Mothered maybe, by women like Missouri but where was the fun in that.

And where the hell was his baby brother? Glancing at his watch for the fifth time, Dean pushed away from the car and scanned the street, just in time to see Sam emerge from the local teashop, a cat that caught the canary smile on his face.

"Just what are you up to Sammy boy?" Dean mused to himself, shoving cold hands into his pockets.

Ever since their imminent arrival in Deighton, Sam had practically begged Dean to give him ten minutes in town alone. No heading over to the town's police station with a fake reporter's ID and that Winchester charm. No knocking on the library doors or even rustling up a guesthouse for the night.

No, Sam was up to something and just like that whole faith healing racket up in Nebraska Dean had a bad feeling he wasn't going to like it.

"And just where the hell have you been?" he demanded, belligerently as Sam crossed the street to him. "I've been freezing my ass off out here."

"Ok how does this sound," Sam said, in way of answer, giving him that patented, eager, you can't say no to this, look. "One room each, laundry service, all the hot water you can stand and home cooked food?"

"Sounds expensive." No way was he digging into his dwindling cash supply for a house run by Deighton's answer to Martha Stewart.

"It's free Dean."

"Then it sounds perfect."

Anything with the word free in it sounded good right now. They needed a break from financial troubles and somehow Dean doubted he'd be playing high stakes blackjack down at the ladies bridge club. He paused, opening the impala's door. "You got friends here or something?"

"Or something," Sam hedged, climbing into the car and Dean fought the urge to grab him in a headlock.

"Fine, whatever," he said, giving up and sliding into the driver's seat. It was getting to be a habit letting his brother do his own thing, maybe a bad one, but he trusted Sam with his life. And it wasn't like he was going to turn down any place offering a bed for free that wouldn't aggravate his sore ribs or bruised chest.

Plus he knew Sam missed his friends, missed ordinary people who didn't end up blood spattered and beaten at the end of a day's work, whose conversations didn't finish with 'let's find the bones and burn those suckers.' And Dean had to admit, some of Sam's friends hadn't been all that bad, like that Becky chick who had actually been kinda hot…

"…run by one Mrs Rubins," Sam was saying as he flipped through his notebook and Dean gave himself a little shake. "She's the one who discovered the body."

"The librarian?"

"That's what I just said," Sam replied. He casually gave his brother the once over. "You sure you're ok?"

"Fine, keep going."

He used the dismissive tone he knew would get Sam to back off, for now at least. The one that sounded eerily like their old man when he'd been injured on a job or when Dean had pressed him for difficult answers.

It still worked, up to a point.

Sam stared at him for a moment, then allowed his gaze to slide back to his notebook. "Mrs Rubins is also married to the local officer in charge of the investigation so maybe with a little sweet-talking…"

"We can get the inside deal on this killing," Dean finished. "Two birds, one stone, I get it. And nothing like a little Winchester charm to get the old girl to give up the goods."

"Uh Dean?" Why did Sam sound so soothing now? "Maybe you should let me do the talking. She sounded kinda elderly, fragile even, and we don't want to scare her off."

Catching a glance of himself in his rear-view mirror, Dean let out an annoyed breath. With the cut above his left cheekbone and split lip, not to mention the dark, stranger's eyes that stared out tiredly, he knew now why he'd been getting so many stares.

Besides, Sam did that whole 'please mother me' thing far better.

Still didn't help him get laid though.

END OF CHAPTER ONE