Sam had no idea of some of the things that Dean had done. Even at a young age, he had to find ways to take care of his little brother. These were times when the money ran out and Sam was hungry.
Dean had grown from a funny looking kid into a good looking teenager. By the time he was eighteen, he had reached his full height; his training had given him a solid, well-sculpted physique and mother nature had given him a beautiful face.
He wasn't old enough, and his face didn't fool anyone, so pool hustling, in bars, was still in his future. But, he found another way to make money. And all he had to do was stand there.
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Sam had never seen anyone, so casual about his appearance, primp so much. Dean loved to look at himself. The hair had to be perfect; he checked his skin, his teeth, his nails. Sam had been waiting over fifteen minutes. He said, "Dean, we're not having our pictures taken. Would you move it?"
He watched his brother's expression change into a mask. Then, he gruffly answered that he was ready.
Sam mentally kicked himself. He didn't understand it but he knew that Dean didn't react well to comments about having his picture taken. He knew they had to keep a low profile and avoid the authorities but, he wouldn't even let Sam take a picture on his phone.
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They walked into the gas station convenience store and were immediately approached by the creep. He stepped directly in their path and started in on his spiel. He put his hands up, thumbs touching, and tilted them as if framing a picture. He rambled about angles and focus and light. Then he looked Dean in the face and stopped.
The creep appeared to be in his fifties with shiny black hair. The shine was not from nature but from a tube of something greasy enough to keep the intermittent growth in its place. In fact, his eyebrows were thicker. At a quick glance, Sam compared him to a rodent.
He said, "I know that face. I never forget one of my models." He gave Dean a smirk. Sam felt like he needed a shower.
Dean said, "You're mistaken. Now, excuse me." The timbre of his voice made it almost unrecognizable and it was emotionless.
Sam saw the look in his brother's eyes even before Dean himself knew it was there. This guy would be dead in a minute. He put his hand on Dean's chest and sent him to pay for the gas.
He told the creep, "I just saved your neck. You should leave."
Being a creep, the man remarked, "From that pretty boy? Okay. Maybe someday I can return the favor, when you need a few bucks." With that, he handed Sam a business card and walked out. Sam had been watching his brother and only half listening. He took the card unconsciously.
Sam folded the card without reading it. He saw Dean coming towards him and slipped the card in his pocket. He still looked angry. Sam assured him that the creep was gone. They left to do their work.
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In the car, Sam was bursting with questions. Why would Dean be so unnerved by that sleazy photographer? Why would he be unhappy about being told he looked like a model? Sam's math was usually good but, he was preoccupied about the work so, his addition was off.
Dean's nerves were itching. He never thought he would see that creep again. And in front of Sam. He would kill that guy if he said anything.
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It had been several years ago. They needed money. Dean had already been caught stealing; he wouldn't let that happen again. There wasn't enough time to do legitimate work and get paid. He didn't have seed money to hustle pool and besides he was too young looking. He needed money now.
There was one thing he promised himself he would never do, not even for Sam. But, as they say, desperate times...He headed downtown.
It didn't take long for a man to approach him. He told Dean he was very pretty, photogenic he said. He wanted to take his picture. He would pay him. Dean cautiously agreed.
They walked around the corner and up a narrow staircase into a dark hallway. Dean demanded payment, up front; he was obliged. At the end of the hall, the man unlocked a door opening into a cramped office. It had the appearance of a waiting room. There was a small desk and three plastic molded chairs. Dean knew sleaze when he saw it. He reminded himself not to accept any offered food or beverage.
The studio was real. There was equipment, lights, tripods and screens, cameras, even a couple of those umbrella things. Dean relaxed a little. He was there almost two hours.
The session started with his face. That didn't last too long since that really wasn't the main attraction. Dean was assured these photos were for a 'private collection'. The creep was in full bloom. But, it was a lot of money. And as long as nobody touched him, he would cooperate.
For not being a model, Dean found creative ways to hide his face during the body shots.
When it was over, Dean got dressed. The creep never touched him but he went too deep into Dean's pocket as he slipped him an extra hundred on his way out. It felt wrong but, he could justify almost anything to take care of Sam.
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Sam knew his brother wouldn't want to talk about it but, he had to ask.
"Dean, who was that guy?"
"What did that creep tell you?"
"We didn't talk, Dean. I told him to get lost. That was it."
Sam could see the relief wash over Dean's face. This was one secret he might never learn.
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While researching online, Sam's curiosity grabbed hold. He fished the folded business card from his pocket. He would find about this guy. He noticed the scrawl and vaguely remembered the creep writing something on the back. It read:
" "MANCHILD vol 3 june '98 "