Set early season 2, a couple of months after John's death with flashbacks to Dean's life during Sam's Stanford years.

Follows my story 'An Unexpected Guest'. You should really read that one first.

Middle of Nowhere...
July 2006

Dean groaned and rubbed his chest as they made their way toward the diner exit. He had barely reached the door and his bacon triple-cheeseburger was already repeating on him.

Sam could only shake his head at his brother's misery. It was like watching a lab rat get zapped repeatedly trying to grab a slice of cheese - never making the connection between it's actions and the pain. Dean did the same thing, day in and day out, yet he expected a different result every time.

"Ooohhh... I think they poisoned my burger, dude." Dean griped, pulling his keys from his pocket before suppressing an unexpected belch. "I'm serious - I'm not gonna make it. Just take me out back and put me down, Old Yeller style."

"Gladly," Sam huffed.

Despite the dramatics and pained grimace on his face, Dean continued trudging along towards the Impala.

Just to be safe, Sam cast his brother a discrete, appraising glance to gauge the severity of the situation. This would not be the first time Dean's love of bacteria-laden diner food resulted in food poisoning.

Then again, if he was complaining, Sam knew he couldn't be feeling too bad. Dean would whine relentlessly about a paper cut just to annoy him, but had recently managed to hide three broken ribs and a seven inch gash on his leg for over a week. It was still unclear to Sam whether Dean did things like that to maintain macho appearances, or to spare Sam the knowledge that his big brother was, in fact, human and capable of being injured.

"It astounds me that you're still surprised when this happens," Sam commented as he reached the Impala. He went on, watching his slow-moving brother catch up. "I mean, you just all-but-inhaled two pounds of cheap, greasy, undercooked meat -"

"Oh, God..." Dean groaned, clamping a hand over his mouth and gagging at the descriptive reminder.

After taking a few steadying breaths, he pointed over at Sam in warning.

"I swear, I will puke all over you if you don't stop talking."

Sam masked the victorious smile that tried to form on his lips with a disapproving scowl.

"And after sucking down that triple-decker E. coli burger with cheese, what did you do? You put the final nail in your coffin with a side of chili fries. I'm telling you, eating lunch with you is like watching a dog raid a refrigerator. Zero self control, man. ZERO."

"You're...the one...zero control..." Dean replied lamely.

Sam arched a brow and smirked.

Dean's features twisted from misery to irritation in response.

"Yeah, well, what are you, my personal dietary Jiminy Cricket now? Where the hell was that voice of reason when I picked up the dessert menu?" He groused before climbing into the car and sinking heavily onto the bench seat.

"As if I don't know better than to stand between you and pie?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean continued to grumble under his breath as he backed out of the parking spot and pulled out onto the main road.

"So, where are we headed, Too Tall? Did you find us a job yet?" He asked gruffly.

In response to the insult, Sam's features twisted into a classic 'bitch face'. Dean grinned and tore his gaze away from the road long enough to savor it. Bitch face was, after all, the ultimate visual confirmation that he had gotten under Sam's skin.

"Okay, first off? If you're gonna call me 'Too Tall', I am most definitely calling you 'Shorty'."

"Ooh, somebody's touchy," Dean teased.

"And secondly, no. In the time it took us to walk out to the car, I did not manage to magically stumble onto a hunt."

Dean grunted in reply, muttering something under his breath about how 'freakishly long giraffe legs' should be able to stumble on just about anything.

Sam sighed in annoyance, but noticed that his brother was still massaging his chest, as if that would keep the acid indigestion at bay. Taking mercy on the jerk for whatever reason, Sam popped open the glove compartment and began rifling through its contents.

"You want a Tums?" He offered, hoping that for once his brother would take him up on it.

"Pfft...get out of here with that sissy shit," Dean scoffed.

"Riiiggghhtt," Sam breathed in feigned recollection. "I forgot. 'Manly-men' don't get indigestion."

"Wrong." Dean declared. "Manly-men DO get indigestion. They're just manly enough to sack-up and deal with it, instead of chewing up some fruity little pill. I'm fine."

Sam chuckled at Dean's logic, as well as his miraculous recovery. Funny how the instant Sam wanted to 'Nurse' or 'Mother' him, Dean never failed to suddenly be 'fine.'

He was still shaking his head at his brother, about to close the glove compartment, when something caught his attention.

The screen of one of the numerous cell phones inside was lit up.

Sam frowned, picking it up from the pile and flipping it open.

Dean's eyes were immediately on him.

"Got a call?" He asked hopefully.

"Looks like. There's a new voicemail. Wow - and 5 missed calls just since we went in to eat."

"Which phone?"

Sam held it up for inspection and watched Dean's features tense in recognition. He looked down at the phone curiously, squinting as he thought back to the last time he went on a hunt with their Dad. While all other phones were replaced at regular intervals, Sam amazingly recognized this particular cell from his pre-Stanford days.

"Wasn't this like...Dad's 'other other OTHER' phone?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. That right there's the Bat-phone. Hell, even I didn't rate having that number."

"You changed it to the same password as the others?" Sam asked, waiting for confirmation from Dean before entering the digits and pressing the phone to his ear.

A gruff, exhausted male voice greeted him as the message began.

"John. It's Frank. Listen...it's about Fiona. Shit started back up again and...well, she found it out the hard way. It ain't good. Countdown's on. When you get this, you get your stubborn ass in your truck and Get. Here. Pronto. And how about you do us all a favor and finally bring that kid of yours this time?"

The message ended with the telltale smacking clicks of a phone being slammed down onto its receiver.

Brows drawn together, Sam looked over at Dean with the phone still to his ear. "You know a Fiona?"

The phone was rather unceremoniously snatched from his grasp in response to that question.

Sam watched in wide-eyed shock as his brother listened to the message for himself. Without a word, Dean simultaneously closed the phone, slid it into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled a hard U-Turn so fast that, in any car but the Impala, probably would have resulted in an overturned vehicle.

Sam deserved serious credit for managing to stay quiet for the next three minutes. In all fairness, though, he spent those minutes thinking Dean HAD to know an explanation was in order.

Sadly, no. Dean's posture clearly conveyed his willingness to drive in silence indefinitely, leaving Sam to stew in his trademark ever-insatiable curiosity.

And just three minutes in, it was too much to bear.

"So..." he began, but was immediately interrupted when Dean's phone started ringing.

"Man, saved by the cell..." Dean muttered and fished his phone out of his jeans pocket. He glanced at the caller ID and nodded to himself before answering, as if he'd expected the call. "Yeah, Bobby."

Sam held his tongue and tried to gather what little he could from one side of the conversation.

"Uh-huh. I know. Just heard the message on Dad's cell. How is she? Is it serious?" Dean listened for a moment and scowled severely. "Well, make him 'get into it with you'. Stupid, stubborn, son of a... Not you! Frank. But hey, if the shoe fits..."

Sam could suddenly hear Bobby's voice clearly through the phone - a reply about just where Dean could shove that shoe. He watched his brother suppress a smile.

"Now, now. Don't get your blood all up. Did you tell him about Dad? Uh-huh. Thanks. One less person I gotta tell. All right, let him know we're heading there now. Okay, thanks, Bobby."

Dean closed the phone and sighed, knowing his temporary reprieve was over.

Sure enough, Sam had pounced before his phone was even back in his pocket.

"So...who's Fiona?" Sam asked, though he honestly didn't know why he bothered feigning nonchalance. His brother knew damned well that he was bursting at the seams with questions.

"Frank's sister." Dean answered curtly.

Sam took a calming breath, knowing that he was going to have to wrestle the info out of his brother one crumb at a time.

"Who's Frank?"

"Munitions guy."

"Friend of yours?

"We've met."

"And Fiona?"

"Met her, too."

"Hmm... is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Bite me, Sammy."

"Where are we heading?"

"Nebraska."

"How long till we get there?"

"Be there by morning."

"Driving all night?"

"Yup."

"Wow."

"Wow, what?" Dean asked before he could catch himself. He immediately cursed under his breath.

"This Fiona chick must really be something," Sam mused, looking out his window in feigned indifference.

Dean alternated between grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw, steadfastly refusing to take the bait and respond. Sam was fishing for a reaction. Something to go over in his mind with a fine tooth comb and a magnifying glass. To examine from every conceivable angle. To meticulously dissect with that big, fat, stupid, lawyer-ish brain of his.

Dean's only defense against Sam when he got like this was to stay as tight-lipped as possible. It occurred to him suddenly that his tactics for handling curious-Sam were exactly the same as his tactics for surviving police interrogations.

The corner of his mouth turned upward at that.

Unfortunately, his little brother had a lifetime of experience interrogating him... and it was a long drive to Nebraska.

"How'd you two...'meet'?"

"Dad."

"He introduced you?"

"Yup."

"When did you two see each other last?"

"About two years ago."

"While I was at Stanford?"

"Since that's where you were two years ago, YES, dumb ass."

"What's she like?"

"What?" Dean asked in surprise, somehow thrown by the seemingly simple question.

"What's she like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Fiona. Describe her. What's. She. Like?"

"I don't know, man... Like a chick."

Dean's voice had been a telltale half-an-octave too high for that response. Sam's eyes narrowed suspiciously on his suddenly defensive posture. He noted the way his brother checked his side-view mirror for no apparent reason, the way he shifted guiltily in his seat.

"Mmm-hmm." Sam said knowingly and grinned as if he'd just solved a puzzle.

"'Mmm-hmm', WHAT, Sammy?" Dean growled in frustration. He was pretty sure he hadn't given his brother anything to work with.

"I'm thinking love interest," Sam taunted in his most annoying little brother tone.

"Wow...I'm flattered, really, but I don't swing that way. Besides, that's incest, dude."

"Shut up," Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. This Fiona 'chick'. Love interest, right? If she wasn't anything to you, you wouldn't be so evasive. If she was a standard one-night-stand, you'd be tormenting me with details of your sex-capades right now. Buuuuttt... if you're in LOVE with this girl..."

"That's it. No more Lifetime movies for you, Samantha," Dean grumbled angrily.

Sam laughed in amazement and turned to face Dean. "Holy shit, you really are in love with this girl!"

"What?! No, I'm most definitely not." Dean assured.

Sam frowned in confusion, sensing that his brother was actually telling the truth. "Then what is it? She's clearly significant. What am I missing here?"

Dean smirked. "Now why would I answer that question when not-knowing just might make your head explode?"

"Because you really want me to have this out of my system before I meet her."

Dean glanced over at Sam, initially not catching the intended threat. He scowled when he caught on.

"Dude. No."

"What? You wouldn't prefer it if I hound HER for details about your relationship?" Sam taunted, but was completely caught off guard when his words inadvertently pushed all of Dean's big red buttons.

"I said NO. You will NOT bother her about anything, do you hear me?" Dean snapped and pointed at Sam in warning.

The finality of his tone bore uncanny resemblance to their father.

Dean's 'I am not f-ing around' face was firmly in place.

Sam was positively gobsmacked.

His mouth hung open uselessly as he stared at his brother.

Whatever he was missing, whatever the explanation, Dean was as protective of this girl as he was of...well, SAM. He had seen Dean level that very same look of warning at countless people in his defense over the years.

"Oh my God... Dean?"

His brother stubbornly stared at the road ahead, his mouth forming a tight line.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, this time breaking out the vulnerable, pleading little brother voice.

As expected, Dean sighed in defeat. 27 years old and he still had no defense against this. It was just plain embarrassing.

"What, Sammy?"

"Who is this girl?"