PROLOGUE

Dean was done. He'd had enough. Enough of his drunken dad, enough of his dead mother hanging over him like a cloud, enough of the running and the hitting and most certainly enough of being hit. So he was packing, his school books, birth certificate, driver's license, fake IDs, all of it was stuffed into a duffle bag along with shirts, flannels, jackets, jeans and his only spare pair of boots. He was going to Topeka a thirty eight or so minute ride from Lawrence, but far enough and big enough he'd never have to worry about his dad again. He shoved his bus ticket and the 3,000$ he'd been saving for God knew how long into his back pocket, grabbing his pack of smokes and his battered iPod as well.

Once he was satisfied he'd have everything he needed he zipped up the duffel bag and slung it onto his back, tip toeing through the dump of a motel they'd been calling home for longer than Dean wanted to admit. He quickly snuck into his father's room, holding his breath, and took another 3,000$ from the sock his father had hidden in the drawer. It was used mostly on hookers and booze, Dean would have more of a need for it. The door came open with a protesting shriek and Dean heard John begin to stir, but he was already running, his past life forgotten behind him as the freshly falling snow wiped away all evidence he'd left in the first place.

"Come on, pull it together." Dean was in the dirty bathroom of the Wal-Mart across the street from the bus station, trying to get his nerve together. He was panicking, worrying his dad would some how magically know which bus station he'd gone to, and that his bus was arriving in less than half an hour. He dried his faCe and looked in the mirror, really seeing himself for the first time in God knew how long. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with deep bags and held a deep, aching sadness. There was a faded bruise on his chin and, looking down, he mentally pictured the scars that littered his chest, arms and legs. Cigarette burns, belt marks, old bruises from fists that hadn't quite faded yet. His bones had been broken and healed so many times pain was like a lover, it's touch a caress. He was tired of hurting, he was tired of being a punching bag and he was tired of being a victim. Shaking his head he gathered his duffel bag and went to wait outside, ignoring the pissed off employees that were already assuming they knew him; like he just looked like a thief and not the victim of abuse.

"Fuck, it's cold!" Dean cursed, kicking the frozen ground, arms wrapped around his shoulders. The 24 hour Wal-Mart was warm and well lit, but the midnight employees were glaring at him every second he went without buying something, so he'd gone outside. Swearing, he lit a cigarette and took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair.

"Here," a kind voice said, softly. "Take this and get warm, you look too skinny to be standing in a cold this bad." The man had blonde hair and a kind smile, he seemed to be in his early thirties in a rolled up green flannel, jeans and work boots. He was handing Dean a warm cup of hot chocolate, which he took gratefully.

He gave it a sniff and a quick taste, before drinking it quickly. It wasn't tampered with and Dean was incredibly grateful as the warmth hit his from head to toe, making the cold and the snow seem grately lessened. He tossed the cup in the trash and smiled kindly at the man saying nothing.

The bus pulled into the stop with a satisfying hiss and Dean jogged across the street, waving goodbye to the man, and adjusting his duffle bag before he dropped into a seat and rested his head back against the fairly nice material. There were electrical outlets next to his seat, a comfortable recline setting and the bus was almost empty. It would be a quick ride. He plugged his iPod into his ears, one at a time, humming along as Ramblin' Rose came on. Ah, one of his favorites. Absently, he began rubbing his wrist, trying to make a plan for his new life in Topeka. He had the fake IDs, a passport, everything he'd need as an adult. He'd gotten his GED so he had a basic high school education and he'd get a job and a life and a shitty apartment, like everyone else did.

His head hit the back of the seat and before he knew it, he was out like a light.


So, reviews are life! This is gonna be a long-ish story with lots of plot twists, smut, swearing and Destiel. Anyway, yeah, I won't post chapter two till I have nine reviews, that seems reasonable, right? Thanks for your support!