AU – The Problems With Dean 'verse. Can be read as a stand-alone. John Winchester left his sons to be raised by his business partner and his wife, Mike and Kate, who just can't seem to understand Dean. Here is the explanation of how they grew up, per request. (After the last couple of requests, the idea for this just started burning a hole in my brain. And, well, I don't really like walking around with holes, so...)

Problems With Dean: Growing Up

Chapter 1

Dean is 6 and Sammy is 2 years old

Hoarse sobbing came from behind Dean's bedroom door. It tore at Kate's heart, but this had to be done. Dean's therapist told them that he was unnaturally attached to his younger brother and it was unhealthy. Dean had to learn to sleep in his own bed, in his own room. A clean break had been advised as the best course of action. There would undoubtedly be a couple of bad nights, but then Dean would adapt. Children were resilient.

Kate laid a hand on his door as the sobbing continued. She wanted to stay there, to wait until Dean fell asleep so she could put him to bed, but Mike tugged at her arm.

"You know he can keep that up for hours," Mike whispered. "He's fine. We locked him in, he's not going anywhere and nothing can hurt him. Come to bed."

She nodded, though she didn't think she would be able to sleep tonight. Kate let Mike lead her downstairs. He tried to get amorous, but she really wasn't in the mood.

"Just thought you needed a distraction," he mumbled into her hair.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate it, but there was no way Kate could even consider that with Dean sobbing his eyes out upstairs. After Mike fell asleep a thunderstorm rolled in. How could she possibly let Dean sleep alone now? Kate considered waking Mike, but she knew what he would say: if they backed down now, Dean would continue to expect them to back down. It could only turn out worse. She rubbed her swollen belly. They would have another little one to worry about soon, it was high time Dean was set straight.

Each roll of thunder sent waves of guilt through her. She wondered if she could wait for the morning alarm to go off. When it finally rang with a shrillness admonishing Kate for her bad parenting, she had to pry her eyes open. It was morning though the sun had not bothered getting up yet. Finally! She shoved Mike's shoulder before hurrying out of bed.

Kate mounted the stairs anxiously, making a beeline for Dean's room. She slid the bolt back and slowly opened the door, in case Dean fell asleep beside it. Kate frowned at the fact she could not find Dean instantly. He was not on the floor by the door. She flipped on the overhead light. His bed had not been slept in and he was not hiding behind the door or in the empty closet. Her first clue was the wet floor.

Surprised, Kate followed the pools of water to their source. Her heart seized even as the baby gave her a good morning kick.

"Kate? How is he?" Mike's voice blared through the empty room.

She pointed a shaking hand at the window, where a breeze blew in through broken glass.

"What the hell?" Mike breathed over her shoulder. Their eyes met and they reached the same conclusion at the same time. Practically falling over each other, Kate fought her husband to get to the bedroom next door, Sammy's room. She threw the door open.

At first, in the dim light offered by the hallway, all Kate could see was Sammy's tousled hair and what she assumed was Dean's head next to Sammy's. She breathed a sigh of relief as she approached them. Kate pulled back the bedcovers to wake the boys and screamed. She staggered back, pointing to the boys. They were curled up together, their legs covered in drying blood.

"Honey?" Mike lowered her to the floor. "Kate? Can you hear me? I have to call an ambulance. Just stay here, don't move. I'll be right back." She barely heard his heavy running steps leave the room.

Sammy stirred in bed. Large brown eyes opened slowly. "Mommy?" he asked slowly. "Why Mommy crying?"

Sammy crawled out of bed. Kate stifled the scream rising in her throat, not wanting to frighten him. "Mommy?" Sammy patted her cheek softly. "Is Mommy okay?"

Kate tried to nod, but her head would not cooperate. If Sammy was fine, and he certainly looked it, then all that blood could only come from one place. Like a powerful magnet, Dean's still form drew her gaze. Oh, God…

"My get Dean," Sammy said when she could not speak, could not look at him. It was typical Sammy, things didn't seem right so he went straight to Dean. "Dean!"

Dean did not move. Confused, Sammy waddled closer to the bed. "Dean!" he shouted, pudgy fingers prying his brother's eyelids open. "Dean? Wake up time." Dean's body was so, so still.

"Mommy?" Sammy turned around. "Dean not wake up?" His forehead crinkled in the comical way two year olds had when they worried, but Kate could not see the humor in it. It was dreadful, disastrous, horrific.

"Easy, buddy," Mike intoned as he scooped Sammy into his arms. Mike forced Sammy to face her as he stood, waiting. "They'll be here soon," he promised. "Have you, uh, checked?" he asked, nodding at the bed.

Kate's breathing was erratic now and the only way her muscles worked was to hold her stiffly in place. If she wanted Kate couldn't even scream. All she could do was stare at Dean, lying in that bed, still. So very still. She swore to herself and to God if he was alive, Dean could sleep in the same room as his brother until he was fifty if he wanted. Then they could buy bunk beds. Kids loved bunk beds. Maybe for now they just needed a bigger bed. Yes, first thing she would buy a bigger bed for the boys to share. The moment she could move again.

Sirens told her that the ambulance was here. Still Kate could not move, only stare. Dean had been entrusted to her and over the past year, almost two years, the quiet boy had stolen a piece of her heart. She wanted to help him, show him how to be normal. She would, she thought, if he would just live. All he had to do was live through today and Kate would never, ever make this mistake again. She could take care of Dean, and she would. From now on Kate would put more effort into it, he just had to be there for her. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

People came into the room, but Kate barely saw them. She heard words like 'blood loss' and 'thready pulse' but none of it really made sense. What did make sense was the oxygen mask they put over Dean's face and the stretcher they put him on. Kate pushed herself off the floor as they strapped Dean to the stretcher.

"Ma'am, maybe you should follow in the car with your husband," a paramedic suggested, standing in her way.

Kate glared at the man. "If you try to come between me and my son," she growled, "you will experience a new definition of pain."

His eyes widened and he stepped out of her way. Kate rushed after them, taking a seat inside the ambulance where she could hold Dean's hand the whole way to the hospital. He never opened his eyes, but his hand was warm and that was enough for now. When they took Dean into the ER she stayed right by his side, whether the doctors liked it or not. They hooked him up to an IV and a whole wall of monitors. Kate only left his side twice when her tiny bladder demanded attention. After a couple of hours, and a lot of work on Dean's leg she couldn't watch so she sat there with her eyes closed, he was placed into his own room.

Mike came in with a cranky Sammy. "Hey, honey," he said wearily. "So how is he?"

Sammy pawed at the bed, trying to get up with his big brother. Kate silently picked the younger boy up and helped situate him in bed. When she looked at her husband she found him watching her with wide eyes.

"He doesn't like to sleep alone," she said simply, taking her seat. Mike nodded slowly. "And he hasn't woken up yet, but the doctor said with that kind of blood loss at his age, it wasn't surprising. He'll probably be up and around by tomorrow." She took Dean's hand in hers again, entwining her fingers with his. It felt so small and fragile by comparison.

Sammy tickled Dean's cheek with his stubby fingers. "Dean?" he called softly. "Sammy want Dean wake up."

Kate thought she heard something from her oldest, but she wasn't sure.

"Sammy," she whispered, her heart racing with excitement, "do that again."

Sammy grinned, deep dimples in his chubby cheeks, and tickled Dean's cheek again. "Dean!" he called more insistently. "Sammy want to see Dean's eyes."

Dean's eyelashes, so dark in contrast to that sickly pale skin, fluttered. Kate tightened her grip on his hand. She nodded to Sammy to keep it up. Sammy called for his brother two more times before Dean's eyes finally opened. Kate felt like laughing and jumping for joy, but she stayed in her chair as she clutched Dean's hand.

The older boy stared hard at Sammy before looking around the room. He frowned at the bed and the monitors beeping. He positively scowled at the needle sticking in his arm.

"How are you feeling, Dean?" Mike asked softly.

Dean turned puzzled eyes to Mike, then he finally looked to Kate. "Mom?"

She beamed. In one word she understood that he wanted to know where he was and why. She understood Dean. It was rare, and Kate was not foolish enough to believe it would last, but she would take it while she could. "You lost a lot of blood, Dean," she explained slowly. "That isn't good for you. We couldn't wake you up, so we brought you to the hospital."

"This is what happens when you kick out windows, son," Mike admonished. "Do you have any idea how bad you scared us?"

Kate waved away Mike's anger. "Dean, why would you kick out the window?" she asked softly.

Dean ran a hand over Sammy's thick locks. "Thunderstorm."

"What about it?" Kate asked, shooting Mike the look that said 'shut up.'

"Sammy scared thunderstorm," Sammy said. He rested his head on his big brother's shoulder. "Dean make it all better."

Dean smiled at his little brother and relaxed into the bed. The arm under Sammy wound around Sammy's pudgy middle to pull his brother closer. Kate felt the tears welling in her eyes and hurried to brush them away with her free hand.

"I think," she said in a voice she desperately tried to hold steady, "that first thing tomorrow we should go buy a larger bed for the boys' room."

"What?" Mike asked.

"Well, I mean, what if we had a really bad storm?" Kate demanded. "Dean would probably go right through the wall. No, I'm afraid the boys will just have to share a room."

Mike started to protest, "But Doctor McHenrie said…"

Kate sniffed in disapproval. "That quack? He's fired. What an idiot. We can find someone better than him." She smiled at Dean. "You don't have to see that idiot again."

Dean nodded at her as his eyes dropped closed.

"Go ahead and sleep, Dean," she crooned softly, brushing her free hand against his forehead. "We'll be here when you wake up." And if one doctor or nurse even suggested that Sammy didn't need to share a bed with his big brother tonight, the idiot would have Kate to deal with. She looked forward to it.

Paul Hood knocked on the front door of his newest case, Dean Peavy. The adoptive parents had been putting off this in-home interview for weeks now. Paul had finally needed to threaten a court order before the parents agreed to set a date and time. He knocked again.

The door was opened slowly by a round man with a little grease on one temple,near his early receding hairline. He was clearly dressed in one of his best suits, which he must not have occasion to wear often since it looked awfully tight around the waist. Deciding the man must be Mister Michael Peavy, Paul stuck his hand out.

"Mister Peavy?" he asked cordially. "I'm Paul Hood, your caseworker. We've spoken on the phone."

Peavy's brow furrowed, but he shook Paul's hand. "Mike," he replied.

Relieved to be on familiar terms right off the bat, especially after what he considered a rocky start, Paul smiled at the father. "In that case, please call me Paul. May I come in?"

Peavy nodded stiffly before standing aside. He motioned for Paul to enter their house, which appeared to have been recently cleaned within an inch of its life. The scents of lemon and pine hung thick in the air. He followed Peavy into the family room. A woman, presumably Missus Peavy, sat stiffly on the sofa in an ironed maternity dress. There were two boys in the family room as well, dressed up and hair slicked down. The younger boy, who appeared to be about two or three, was watching the adults intently. The older boy sat quietly on the far end of the sofa, eyes averted.

"Hello." Paul smiled as he attempted to look as nonthreatening as possible. He knelt in the floor to put himself at eye level with the younger boy. Paul held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Paul. I'm here to talk to your son."

He had expected the kid to laugh at him. The younger boy frowned. There was a tense silence until the boy pointed a finger in Paul's face. "My not like. Dumb man."

He heard a chuckle, but when he glanced in the direction he was sure it came from, the older boy's face was blank and innocent. Curious.

"Well," Paul smiled at the younger boy as he rocked back on his heels, "now that the introductions are out of the way, could Dean please take this dumb man to see his room?" He stood and brushed off his pants.

The mother nodded stiffly. "Dean?" she said in a strained voice. She leaned over to whisper, "Remember what we talked about. Dad and I will be right here. We're not going anywhere, Dean."

Eyes still averted, the boy responded with a single nod. With a bowed head Dean headed for the stairs. Paul gave the parents a questioning look, wanting to be certain this was indeed Dean. Missus Peavy drew in a sharp breath as she watched the older boy walk slowly up the stairs. Mister Peavy, Mike, motioned for him to hurry up. Clearly they wanted this interview over and done with.

Paul tried to not follow the boy too close, seeing how quiet and withdrawn he already appeared to be. He passed a closed door to open the door to a lighted bedroom. Paul opened the closed bedroom door. It was dark and there was a bed in there, but nothing else. There was no chest of drawers or a single toy in sight, yet there was a lock on the outside of the door just like in the original report by the police officer investigating the scene.

Leaving the empty bedroom, Paul followed the quiet boy into the lighted room. There was a large queen sized bed in the middle of the room, headboard pushed up against the far wall. Toy-filled shelves lined one wall while the other wall had two dressers. Again the room was unnaturally spotless.

Dean sat on the large bed, far too large for such a little kid. He was six? Almost seven? Paul pretended to study some of the toys on the shelves. All of the lower shelves housed toys for a younger child while the upper shelves clearly belonged to Dean.

"Dean? Is this your room?" Paul asked, keeping one eye on the boy while picking up a robot toy.

The boy did not fidget or look at him. Thin shoulders rose in a half-hearted shrug.

Paul decided intimidation would not work on this kid, he was far too intimidated as it was. He sat in the floor in front of the boy.

"Dean?" he asked gently, trying to catch the boy's eye. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Dean's eyes lifted briefly to look at Paul before he nodded.

"There are questions about how your leg was hurt. Can you tell me about that?" Dean was barely responsive. His nods, head shakes and shrugs looked painfully forced. Kids who had been locked away in rooms or closets for long periods, fed just enough to stay alive, were slightly less responsive than this boy.

"Dean, I really need you to tell me what happened." Paul hoped he could reason with a six year old. "If someone is hurting you, I can help. I can help stop it."

Now Dean's head did lift and looked directly at Paul, a clear look of surprise on his face.

"No!" shouted from the doorway. Paul turned to find the chubby two or three year old from downstairs glaring at him. He stormed over to the bed, where he climbed into his older brother's lap. "My Dean," he declared loudly. "My brudder."

Paul smiled at the younger boy's protectiveness. "Your big brother?" he asked.

The boy took both of Dean's arms and wrapped them around his wait. "My Dean," he said again. "Nobody hurt my Dean!"

Then, while he watched, Dean leaned over to whisper into the boy's ear. The little boy's face twisted in a sour expression. "My Dean," he repeated stubbornly, leaning against his brother's chest while glaring at Paul.

Dean spoke to the little boy. He could use this.

"What's your name?" Paul asked, not moving from his position on the floor.

Paul watched Dean whisper again into the boy's ear. "My Sammy," the little boy said grudgingly. "My Dean's brudder."

Paul nodded at the little kid. "Okay, Sammy. Want to play a game? You, me and Dean?"

Sammy looked at him suspiciously. "And Dean?" he asked slowly.

Paul grinned. This could work. It was unconventional, but he had high hopes for it working. "And Dean," he promised. "Here's the game. I ask you a question. You ask Dean the same question. Dean whispers the answer in your ear, then you tell me Dean's answer. Ready to play?"

Sammy stared at him for a long moment. Paul noticed a weak smile play across Dean's face, probably relief over not having to speak with him directly. Dean whispered into Sammy's ear.

"Okay," Sammy said slowly. "Dean say okay, so Sammy say okay, but my not like." He hung on to Dean's arms even tighter. Paul liked little Sammy's protectiveness of his brother. Dean definitely had some issues, but physical abuse might not be one of them.

"Good." Paul smiled at both boys. "First question, Sammy. Is this Dean's room?"

"My know that," Sammy protested.

"But the game is, you have to ask Dean," Paul insisted. "Then you tell me what Dean's answer is."

Sammy sighed heavily, as if he were being heavily put upon. He tilted his head back to look at his brother. "Is dis Dean's room?" he asked in a bored monotone.

Dean whispered in his little brother's ear. Sammy sat up and looked Paul in the eye. "Dis Dean and Sammy's room."

"Dean, was the room next door ever your room?" he asked.

Sammy's expression soured again. "My not like dat question. Ask 'nother one."

Shocked, Paul could only stare at the little boy. "How old are you?" he demanded.

"My two," he replied with a scowl. "My Dean six."

"You're only two?" Paul asked incredulously. "Really?"

Sammy leaned back. "My really two?"

Dean whispered in the little boy's ear, an amused look on his face. Sammy leaned forward again. "Sammy almost three."

Paul nodded, relieved the boy hadn't just turned two. He certainly acted more like he was three or four. "Next question," he announced. "Ready, Sammy?"

Sammy huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. This kid was a real character. Dean nudged his little brother's side with his fingers. "Fi-i-ine."

"How long have you and Dean shared a room?" Paul asked.

"For ever and ever," Sammy snapped. "My Dean."

"Sammy, you were supposed to ask Dean," Paul reminded the boy.

"Dean say for ever and ever," Sammy insisted, not looking back at his brother.

"How do you know if Dean didn't tell you?" Paul asked.

"My know," Sammy replied authoritatively, leaning back on his brother's chest.

"Sammy!" The mother was in the doorway. "I thought I told you to find one of your movies." She looked horrified.

Paul smiled at her. "Please let him stay," he requested. "Sammy is being very helpful."

"H-he is?" she stuttered. Indecision crossed her face. "I'd rather he not be in here alone."

"Sammy's not alone with me," Paul replied evenly, rather disturbed she would disregard Dean's presence like this. "His big brother is here."

Dean's cheeks pinked and his head dipped down when Paul mentioned him.

"Oh, well..." She looked trapped. "I didn't mean..." Missus Peavy swallowed hard. "Well, if Sammy isn't in the way, I suppose it's all right. Boys?" They both looked directly at her. "I'm downstairs if you need me. All right?"

Sammy nodded instantly. "'kay, Mommy."

"Dean?" she said in a sterner voice.

He nodded slowly at her, eyes riveted to her. After Missus Peavy left, Dean let out the breath he had been holding and his entire body relaxed. Well, even if he wasn't being physically abused, there was something going on between Dean and his adoptive mother. Child molestation?

"Sammy, do you and Dean share this nice big bed?" Paul asked. Both boys nodded at him. "Does Mommy or Daddy ever come in your bed?"

The boys exchanged a surprised look before shaking their heads.

"Do you or Dean ever sleep in Mommy and Daddy's room?" he tried.

Now they both laughed openly at him. Well, okay, maybe not. One more shot.

"Sammy, ask Dean if Mommy or Daddy touches inside his underwear," Paul instructed.

Sammy gave him the strangest look. Then he shook his head and mumbled, "Dummy." Dean snorted back a giggle. Dean whispered in the younger boy's ear.

"Dean not wear diapers," Sammy announced loudly. "Dean big boy." Sammy's eyes rolled again as Dean snickered. Great. No molestation and both boys thought he was a complete moron for asking stupid questions.

He decided to try again for how and why Dean was locked in the next bedroom and kicked out the window. "Dean, a few weeks ago you were in the hospital..."

"No!" Sammy shouted, one pudgy hand in the air. "Bad word!" He shook a fat finger at Paul. "My not like. Big people not talk about dat." He clamped his hands on Dean's arms again. "My Dean," he said fiercely.

"Sammy?" Paul decided on another tact. "Did someone try to take your Dean away?"

Sammy's face soured again as he nodded and his eyes blazed with fury. "Mommy and Daddy," he said venomously. "And big people at dat yucky place. My not let dem do it 'gain. Dean stay here."

Paul nodded seriously at the little boy. "I think that's a very good idea," he said. "And I'll bet Dean doesn't like being separated from you either, does he?"

Sammy's head whipped side to side, wild brown hair smacking his brother in the face. Dean did not seem to mind, hanging on to his little brother with overt affection. Paul stood slowly, not wanting to frighten either child. "Would you boys like to play up here while I talk to your parents for a few minutes?" he asked.

Relief flooded both kids' faces as they nodded eagerly. This was an old trick, but it nearly always worked. Paul walked out as if he were headed straight downstairs. He waited in the hallway, out of sight, to eavesdrop.

"Dean?" Sammy asked. "Dean want to play?"

"Sure, Sammy." The older boy's voice was clear and calm. "What are we playing?"

"Cars," Sammy stated. "Dean, dat man is a dummy, right?"

Dean laughed at his little brother. "You said it, Sammy."

"Dumb man make Sammy mad, saying Dean wear diapers," Sammy said.

Dean laughed again. "Yeah, I know, Sammy. It's okay, he's gone now. Do you want to use the red car this time?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Paul could hear soft thumps, so he figured Sam was jumping up and down in his excitement. He made for the stairs as quietly as he could, now knowing Dean did not sound mentally deficient and the boy did not have an embarrassing speech impediment.

He found the parents waiting downstairs on pins and needles. Paul knew the look well. "I just have couple of questions for you, and we'll be done here," he informed them.

Mike nodded without speaking. Neither invited him to sit, but Paul sat in an armchair opposite the parents anyway.

"I take it the incident which landed Dean in the hospital was a direct result of an attempt to separate the boys?" he asked.

The parents exchanged a guilty look before Missus Peavy answered for both of them. "Dean's therapist recommended it," she said slowly. "He's not seeing that idiot any more." She sounded just as venomous as Sammy when she said that.

Paul stared at them, but he suspected there was no deception on their part. "The therapist recommended locking him in a separate room?" he asked, not quite believing it.

Mike cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, yeah," he said. "We were shocked, but he insisted. Kept saying the boys were too close, that it was unhealthy. He even mentioned if we didn't do something about it now, they might try to hurt the baby." Mike glanced nervously at his wife.

Paul frowned at them. "Why is Dean seeing a therapist?"

Missus Peavy's eyes locked on him. "Well you saw him!" she hissed. "He doesn't speak. He might say one word, two if we're lucky. Don't tell me you think that's normal! And we have no idea what happened the night his mother died."

Paul consulted his notes again. "That's right. His mother died and the father abandoned both boys to your care." He looked up at them. "What about the night their mother died?"

She turned to her husband. Mike shifted nervously. "I never believed John could do such a thing, but Dean was there. We think he saw it."

"Saw what?" Paul was trying to be patient.

Missus Peavy cleared her throat. With a guilty glance toward the stairs, she whispered, "We're certain Dean saw his mother die." She swallowed hard. "And he hates his father, so maybe..." She spread her hands wide with a pained expression.

Well, that would explain a lot. "And that's the reason you have him in therapy?"

Both adults nodded. He really couldn't fault them there. They were taking the right steps and it would make them look very good in his report.

"Would you mind a little advice?" Paul asked. Without waiting for an answer, he plunged right in. "Don't make any major changes to normal household routines, regardless of what these therapists tell you. Those boys are extremely attached. If you force them apart, I'm afraid it could have serious consequences.

"I've been involved in a numerous cases where siblings had to be separated in order to be adopted. In one case the siblings were so close both went into a severe depression. One acted out violently while the other withdrew completely. It was horrible. Both adoptions were extremely difficult on everyone involved." Paul took a deep breath. "It's a mistake I have no intention of repeating." He pointed upstairs. "Those boys may be even closer than the case I was referring to."

Mike and his wife exchanged a look of surprise.

"You do know Dean talks to his brother, don't you?" Paul asked.

Missus Peavy gasped in surprise. No, clearly they didn't know.

"You don't mean in complete sentences?" Mike asked in a stern voice.

Paul nodded at them. "Of course. Complete conversations. It's probably part of the reason Sammy's conversational skills are so good."

The Peavys exchanged a dark look.

"Well, I hope you at least consider my recommendation," Paul said as he stood. "I'll file my report. We'll have to schedule a follow-up visit, but most likely that will be all. I haven't seen anything in this visit which could be construed as very concerning. Especially if Dean continues to sleep in an unlocked room."

Mike slammed a hand against his forehead. "I knew I was forgetting to do something!" Paul waited for him to elaborate. "I meant to remove that stupid bolt from the spare room door. It's going to be the baby's room."

"It might be a good idea to do it before the follow-up visit," he suggested. "I can see myself out."

Paul did not particularly care for the dark look the Peavys had exchanged, but also did not have a sense of actual abuse in this household. Perhaps Dean had been severely abused in the past, but not now. He trusted his instincts, they were usually right.