Such slow going on Chapter 32 of WIT, so I'm sorry about that. It didn't seem so complicated when I started.

In the meantime, enjoy this hurt/comfort Teenchester. Dean is 18 and Sam is 13 (because it's not May yet, duh). Mentions of sexual abuse of a minor, nothing to terribly graphic in content I don't think, mostly implications. Yet another glimpse of Dean never-ending self-flagellation and Sam's quest to prove he's as strong as his big brother.

I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.

"Ow," Sam said for what had to be the tenth time in the last three minutes, trying to pull his hand away from Dean's grasp.

"Geezus, Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes, redoubling his grip. "Stop being such a friggin' girl."

"Stop pinching," Sam complained, "it's fine."

"It'll feel better when I'm done," Dean sighed, "stop fidgeting."

"It's just a spider bite, dude." Sam groused. "It wasn't even a big spider, it was a tiny spider, a tiny black house spider, probably a baby. It doesn't hurt, it just itches, I don't need you to take care of it, I'm not a child."

"Then stop acting like one," Dean told him. "I'm trying to get the venom out, dumbass."

Sam huffed but remained silent and Dean continued to squeeze the flesh of his index finger, soaking up the clear fluid with a square of toilet paper. Sam winced a few more times but didn't say anything else.

Dean would never admit it but he kind of liked taking care of his little brother. Even when Sam was being a brat about it, he liked feeling like he could fix things, make things better for his brother. He couldn't always be there to protect Sam but at least he could fix things afterwards. Taking care of Sam wasn't just an order that Dean had to follow, it was encoded into his DNA.

"There," Dean said, letting Sam's hand go. "That should do it."

As Dean got up and disposed of the tissue, Sam examined the little raised bump on his finger. It was smaller than before.

"Doesn't itch anymore." Sam observed.

"Sort've the point to getting the venom out." Dean said mildly, flopping down on the motel bed.

"Thanks," Sam said reluctantly.

"Careful, Sammy." Dean started flipping through a magazine, "You might start sounding a little grateful."

Sam ignored him and sat on the end of his own bed. It was quiet for several minutes and Dean looked over at his brother. Sam was just sitting, staring at his shoes, the lack of pesky little brother chatter, or watching TV, or bent over homework or another ridiculously nerdy book was somehow disturbing.

"Got homework?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, "Did it in study hall."

After another moment of silence, Dean spoke up, "Okay, what's wrong?"

Sam shook his head again, then asked quietly, "When are we leaving?"

"When Dad calls," Dean told him. "You know that. Why?"

Sam shrugged, still looking at the floor, "I just don't like it here."

Dean frowned, that wasn't like Sam. He usually wanted to stay wherever they were because he hated all the moving around.

Before Dean could say anything else, Sam asked, "Are you going out tonight?"

Dean went out on a regular basis. He was eighteen but with his fake IDs he'd go to bars and play pool and pick up women. Sam, on the cusp of turning fourteen, didn't seem to mind having the motel room to himself while Dean was out. He even seemed to prefer it sometimes.

"Hadn't decided," Dean said cautiously.

"Don't, okay?" Sam asked, finally looking over at him, his eyes taking on the irresistible puppy look, "Stay here? I don't want to be alone."

Dean was becoming seriously concerned, "What's up with you, dude?"

Sam shook his head once more, "Nothing," he said, scooting up the bed and laying down, facing away from him, "I just don't feel good . . . can I skip school tomorrow?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up, Sam must really be sick if he wanted to miss school, "Yeah, Sammy, sure."

The rest of the day, Dean tried to make Sam more comfortable. Dean took his temperature, made him soup for dinner and let him have the television remote. That night, Dean even let Sam curl up next to him in bed, something he didn't do very often. Sam didn't ask very often either, supposedly he was too old to sleep with his brother anymore.

Sam fell asleep in the middle of a movie, his head on Dean's shoulder, his hand clutching the amulet resting on Dean's chest.

*S*S*S*

It was a few days later when Dean decided to cut out of school early and tune up the Impala. John had given him the car when Dean turned eighteen but John still had to drive it most of the time. He was hunting with Caleb though and Caleb had picked him up in a jeep, so Dean got to have the Impala all to himself for a change.

Dean was worried about Sam. He'd been becoming more withdrawn and quiet lately. Dean had tried to find out if maybe some of the kids at school were giving him a hard time but his classmates seemed to be fine with him. Sam, of course, wasn't saying anything. When Dean would ask him if anything was bothering him, Sam would just shrug and say he was fine. It was driving Dean crazy, he hated it when Sam wouldn't tell him what was going on. How was he supposed to look out for Sam when Sam wouldn't tell him anything?

When Dean finally went into the motel room, he tossed the keys on the table and retrieved a drink from the mini fridge. As he tilted his head back he glanced at the wall clock and nearly choked as he realized the time. It was a quarter past 4 already, Sam got out of school at 2:30, he should have been back an hour and half ago. As a thrill of fear skittered up his spine, Dean abandoned his drink and snatched up the keys. He yanked the door open to find Sam on the other side, hand poised to knock.

After staring at him for a minute, Sam lowered his hand and said, "I didn't have the key."

Dean pulled him into the room, slamming the door behind them.

"Where the hell were you?" Dean demanded, grabbing Sam by the shoulders. "You were supposed to be here over and hour ago!"

Sam just looked at the floor, "Sorry."

"Sorry?" Dean growled, "Dammit Sammy, you can't do this. If you're gonna be late, you gotta call first, you know that. D'you even know -" Dean clamped his mouth shut against the flood of words that came to mind. D'you even know what goes through my mind when you're not where you're supposed to be. D'you know how much it scares me? D'you know how worried I am about you? All the time?

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered to his shoes.

In that instant Sam sounded so vulnerable, so broken, Dean's anger evaporated and he knelt in front of his brother. Reaching out, he tilted Sam face up enough to see his eyes which were filled with tears.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, "what is it? What's wrong? I'm your brother, you know you can tell me anything."

Sam shook his head looking away.

"Just tell me." Dean ordered, "Tell me and I'll fix it, what ever it is." He swallowed hard and used a tactic he rarely ever used, "Please, Sammy, please. Let me help you, please."

"You can't" Sam whispered.

"How do you know if you don't even tell me what's wrong?" Dean asked.

Sam was silent for so long, Dean thought he wasn't going to answer him, then said, "I did what I had to."

"What do you mean, Sammy?" Dean tried to get Sam to look at him but Sam refused to meet his eyes.

It was like a dam suddenly broke and Sam was talking quickly, like he needed to get it all out at once.

"You gotta understand, Dean, I had to. He said he knew Dad was gone, he said that he could call the cops about it. He said they'd take me away, to a foster home. I don't like living like this Dean, I don't but I don't wanna live with foster parents either. He told me if I just did this with him, he wouldn't say anything. He said I just hadda do this one thing and he'd keep quiet. I had to, Dean, I had to."

Dean pulled Sam down to the floor. Tears were running down his little brothers face now and Dean hated himself for making Sam talk about this. He felt sick too, he wanted to vomit, there was so much guilt and fear and rage building up inside of him. Dean didn't want to press Sam anymore, he didn't want to put his brother through anymore but he had to get the rest of the story out.

"Who, Sammy?" Dean urged, "Who was it? What did they make you do?"

"Mr. Hall," Sam sobbed the name of his science teacher. "Mr. Hall said that he - that he just wanted to touch . . . he said we just had to touch, he wasn't going to hurt me, we just had to touch each other. But today . . . today . . ."

Sam shook his head again but Dean, hating himself, pushed him, "What Sammy, what happened today?"

"He made me," Sam took a deep shuddering breath, "I had to . . . he wanted to use . . . to use my . . . m-mouth."

Dean jerked Sam roughly into his arms and held him tightly. Sam sobbed "I'm sorry" over and over into Dean's shoulder. Dean cradled the back of Sam's head, shushing him and rocking him, like Sam was four years old again.

"'S'okay, Sammy." Dean soothed, even though it was anything but, "Everything's gonna be okay now. This isn't your fault, I promise this isn't your fault."

"I needed to protect us, Dean." Sam wept, "I did what I supposed to, didn't I?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, he would not cry, he wouldn't do that now. He couldn't help Sam if he broke down now. He kept comforting Sam, whispering reassurances that probably didn't mean much now.

When Sam finally calmed enough that he didn't sound hysterical anymore, Dean pulled away and led Sam into the bathroom. Dean rinsed a wash cloth in cool water and cleaned Sam's face, even though Sam's tears continues to fall steadily. Sam didn't even protest when Dean held a wad of toilet paper under his nose and instructed him to blow. Dean rinsed out the wash cloth and leaned Sam over the sink, putting the cloth on the back of his neck and gently instructed him to calm down.

Afterwards, he led Sam back out to the main room and sat him on the bed. Sam, still looked teary eyed and a little shell-shocked.

Crouching down in front of him, Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Listen Sammy, I'm gonna go out for a while. I need you to pack up while I'm gone. We're leaving in the morning. Don't open the door for anyone, you understand?"

Sam blinked down at Dean, a single tear escaping and sliding down his cheek, "What're you gonna do, Dean?"

Dean cradled the side of Sam's face, wiping away the tear with his thumb, "What I have to, Sammy. Trust me, everything's gonna be fine, okay?"

"Don't tell, Dad," Sam whispered fearfully.

Dean closed his eyes for moment. This wasn't something he should keep from their father. John needed to know about this but that was something to think about later, it was also going to be up to Sam. Dean was going to try his hardest to convince Sam to tell him, though.

"If you don't want me to tell Dad, I won't." Dean assured him, "Promise, Sammy. Now, just do what I told you to, I'll be back later."

*S*S*S*

It was interesting really, how sometimes you get to a point of such all-consuming rage, you actually felt calm.

That's the space Dean had been in since Sam finished his confession. The first priority was making sure that Sam calmed down enough so that Dean could leave him for a while. He didn't want to leave Sam, he just wanted to stay with him, to make him . . . "better". This wasn't a physical wound though. He couldn't just squeeze the venom out, this was inside Sam now, Dean couldn't undo it.

What Dean could do was make sure this never happened to anyone again. Take his anger out on the person that deserved it.

Well, one person who deserved it. Dean had to share in the blame.

Mr. Hall had preyed upon the fear of a thirteen year old kid. A kid that may not like having to live on the road but lived in fear of the dreaded "foster home". And who was responsible for instilling that fear in Sam in the first place? How many times had Dean drilled into Sam to never let anyone know when Dad left them alone for a few days when they were younger?

When Sam was just a toddler, Dean was left to take care of him, Dean constantly keeping an eye out. They always had to remember not to let others know they were alone. Not just because strangers were dangerous but two small children alone was not okay. Dean had told Sam over and over, if some one found out that Dad was gone, the police would come and take him and Sam away and they might never see Dad, or even each other, ever again. They'd be sent to foster homes, strangers would look after them. Foster parents, Dean had told Sam, didn't even care about kids, they got paid to watch them. Sam wouldn't ever have his big brother looking out for him again.

At that time in his life, Sam adored and idolized his big brother. The thought of never seeing Dean again brought tears to his eyes and he'd start to sniffle. Dean would hurriedly comfort him, telling him that it was okay, just to always remember, never, never, never let adults know when they were alone.

Except now, it shouldn't matter. They didn't have to worry about that sort of thing for years, they were both old enough for most people to think they were okay on their own for a few days. Especially now since Dean was a legal adult.

No one had told Sam that, though. Sam was a smart kid but he had years of Dean making him live in mortal fear of being taken away ingrained in him. Sam must have given in the minute his teacher mentioned foster homes.

That part, that was all on Dean.

*S*S*S*

It didn't take long for Dean to get the teacher's address. All he had to do was wait until the entire school was shut down and had no more lingering students or staff around. There was the janitor but he wasn't anywhere near the office when Dean climbed in through a window.

Dean was able to find a copy of Mr. Halls W-2 form and quickly jotted down the address on a piece of scratch paper. He was glad that the science teacher was unmarried and he didn't seem to have any dependents, hopefully he lived alone. Having other people around when you planned on making some one suffer would be a little awkward.

The teacher lived in a nice little house on the outskirts of town. The nearest neighbor was almost a mile away and Dean was extremely grateful for it. He parked the Impala in a wooded area a ways away from the house. Then, with a bag of supplies in hand, he walked around the place a few times, no alarms, no cameras, even though it was dark now, some of the curtains where still open, Dean couldn't see anyone else and decided this was as good a time as any.

Leaving his bag to the side of the porch, he knocked on the door, Mr. Thomas Hall opened it. He was a short, stout man with thinning hair and wire rim glasses, and a sweater vest. He looked every bit the typical science teacher and Dean almost laughed. He looked at Dean, like he was trying to place him, like he knew he recognized Dean but he couldn't remember where from. Dean said his car broke down and could he please use a phone?

There's something to be said about small town hospitality.

While the teacher's back was turned, Dean cold-cocked him from behind.

*S*S*S*

Dean looked up from the knife he was sharpening when he heard a groan.

After knocking out the science teacher, Dean had retrieved his bag and laid down a tarp in the garage. Then he took a chair and placed in the middle of the tarp, tied the unconscious man to it and gagged him. Dean had grabbed another chair and waited for man to wake up.

When Thomas Hall groaned again, Dean set aside his knife, got up and place his chair directly in front of the man and straddled it, watching him intently.

"Time to wake up, sleeping beauty," Dean said in a sing-song voice.

The man opened his eyes, looking dazed. Then confused as he focused on Dean.

"Hey," Dean smiled, "bet your head hurts, huh?"

The teacher just blinked at him, brow furrowed.

"I bet you have a lot of questions, don't you Tom . . . can I call you Tom?" Dean asked conversationally.

When he continued to just blink, Dean went on, "I know what you're thinking. Who are you? Why are you here, why are you doing this? In the interest of saving time and gettin' things goin', I'm just gonna come out with it.

"My name, is Dean Winchester."

Hall's eyes widened and Dean smiled grew, "Yeah, I know you know who I am. You're more familiar with Sam, my little brother. It's important for you to know this, it's important for you to know why you're gonna die tonight."

Dean stood up, moved his chair away. Panic flashed in Hall's eyes, he was trying to speak through the cloth in his mouth, shaking his head. Dean reached out and pulled the gag down so the man could talk.

"Please -" was all he got out before Dean barked a mirthless laugh.

"Please?" Dean said, "Please what? Please don't hurt me? Even though I molested your baby brother, don't kill me? No, no, no, no, no. There is nothing you can say, no excuse you can give, no lies you can tell, that will save you now. Even if you tell me I'll get caught, I'll go to jail, I don't care, all I care about is making sure you bleed for what you've done."

Dean retrieved his knife then approached Hall again. When he noticed that the teacher had apparently wet himself, Dean couldn't help but smirk.

"What're you gonna do?" Hall whispered in a terrified voice. staring at the knife.

Dean's smirk became a malicious grin as he placed the point of the knife under the man's chin, making him lift his head, "I'm gonna make you scream, Tom . . . and before the night is over . . . you'll beg me to kill you."

Hall did scream.

And he did beg.

*S*S*S*

It was near sunrise when Dean pulled back up to the motel. All the evidence he had ever been to Thomas Hall's home, now gone. Along with the body and the tarp. Dean hadn't done anything especially violent . . . blood spray patterns on a ceiling would have given too much away. It didn't stop him from carving Tom up like a Christmas ham. Then he'd taken the body, burned it and buried whatever was left in a very deep grave where no one would find it for years, long after people even forgot the teacher was missing.

Sam was waiting up for him.

"Dean?" Sam stood up from the bed but didn't move.

Dean sighed and headed for the bathroom and started peeling off his clothes. He was covered in dirt, soot, and a fair about of blood. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a much older man looking back at him.

"What did you do, Dean?" Sam's quiet voice asked from the open doorway.

Looking over at Sam, who somehow looked so much younger than he did when Dean left, he shrugged, "I did what I had to, Sammy."

Sam looked at him with sorrow in his eyes, "Dean . . ."

"I have," Dean's breathing hitched and he suddenly realized that he was crying. "I have to look out for you, Sammy. I gotta protect you."

Deans legs gave way and he slid to the floor. Sam was instantly there, his arms around Dean's shoulders, holding him tightly as though he hoped to keep Dean from flying apart altogether. Dean clutched him back with an all too familiar desperation.

"I had to," Dean whispered, "Didn't I, Sammy? Didn't I?"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam consoled him. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Dean told himself to believe Sam, to trust that everything really would be alright again. Soon, the sun would come up and they would drive away from here. They'd go to Pastor Jim's and tell him that some one was getting suspicious, looking at them a little too much. They thought it was best to move on.

Maybe Sam would tell Dad what happened. If he didn't, Dad would be sure to hear about the mysterious disappearance of Thomas Hall, a science teacher. He'd ask Dean about it and Dean would simply say that he did what he had to. He knew that John would never say anything about it after that.

Dean had known for years that he'd die for Sam and it never bothered him. It made him feel important, special. He could take care of Sam in ways no one else could. Dean had always been ready to kill for Sam but knowing that and doing it were two different things.

Dean didn't regret what he did. He never would. No one touched his brother and lived. That did frighten him a little, how much he loved Sam, how he would do anything for him, literally, anything. As cliché as pulling down the moon if Sam asked him to sounded, Dean would find a way.

Dean had killed a man tonight and it scared him. Not the killing of Thomas Hall, it was the torture. Every time, Dean thought of stopping, he'd remember Sam's face and how hard he shook and cried as he confessed to Dean the horrible things that his teacher made him do. Dean would keep going, relishing in Hall's screams, screams he was sure to hear for years to come. It scared him how much he enjoyed it, how much he liked hurting the man in front of him.

Even as a voice whispered in the back of his mind, This is your fault too. You had a part in this, you helped this happened. You didn't protect Sammy.

Dean thought about the part that frightened him the most. It caused him to hold Sam that much tighter.

When he delivered the final blow, when he put the blubbering, sobbing, pleading thing out of its misery once and for all, he couldn't see Hall anymore.

Dean saw himself.