Synopsis: This story was inspired by a comment Jensen Ackles made that (I think) hinted that Dean possibly resorted to prostitution at one point or another to make money:

"...Dean's a pretty promiscuous kind of guy. Who knows how he drums up the funds that they use?"

Basically this story picks up at the end of 9x13 and goes from there, varying a bit from the original scene. Note, this is not a Sam hate story. I have nothing but love for Sammy, I just thought his comment to Dean at the end of 9x13 was a little...unfair. That doesn't mean I don't feel that Sam is justified in his anger, but that was seriously a painful scene to watch.

Disclaimer: I own nothing (sigh).

Warnings: Story is rated M for seriously adult themes like prostitution, language, underage sex, drug use, graphic sex scenes, etc. On that note, enjoy!

The end of the evening found Sam and Dean arguing in the kitchen of the Bunker. They had put the strange (and somewhat gross) case of the fat sucking monsters to bed and had moved onto a new topic: the fucking giant pink elephant that had been sitting between them since they started working together again.

"...you didn't save me for me, Dean, you did it because you didn't want to be alone!"

Dean rolled his eyes and downed what was left of his whiskey. He reached for the bottle and poured himself a fresh glass. Sam sighed heavily and dragged a hand through his auburn locks. No matter what, he couldn't get Dean to understand what the problem was. To Dean, the whole "we're family" excuse was supposed to be the panacea for everything. His brother, ever the stubborn and bull-headed one, kept refusing to see what was right in front of him, that their screwed up, codependent relationship wasthe problem.

"I was ready to die, Dean. But you did all of this just because you couldn't stand the thought of being alone."

Dean paused mid sip, and glared at Sam over the rim of his glass, giving him a look like he couldn't believe what he was saying. Sam pressed onward, knowing he was approaching dangerous territory, here (of course anything involving feelings and Dean Winchester was dangerous territory).

"I'll give you this much, you're certainly willing to do the sacrifice...as long as you're not the one being hurt."

The silence that remained after this statement was deafening; you could've heard a freaking pin drop. Dean became very quiet and very still. Sam leaned back in his chair, waiting for the inevitable fallout though his face was unapologetic. He meant what he said. He knew he had hurt Dean by saying it, but frankly after the shit Dean pulled he wasn't feeling too bad about it.

Dean stood with his back to Sam, silent and unmoving, though it didn't matter. Sam could read him like a goddamn book, even with his back turned. After all, he had spent the majority of his life following his big brother around, studying his every move, wanting so badly to be just like him. He knew there was going to be an explosion; he just had to wait for it. He didn't say anything else, just let his words marinate for a minute. When his brother slowly turned to face him, he was gripping his half empty glass of whiskey like a weapon. Dean's face was stony and his green eyes glittered dangerously; he licked his lips. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Sam continued to stare at Dean, unflinching. Any minute now...

"Excuse me?"

Dean was glaring at him out of the corner of his eyes, his tone heavy with warning. Sam paused for a minute, wondering if he should further provoke the angry bear.

"You heard me."

Dean's mouth became a hard line, the muscles in his jaw line becoming tense. He pinched his nose and gave an odd laugh.

"No, I don't think I heard you right because it almost sounded like you said I'm happy to make sacrifices when I'm not the one getting hurt. But that can't be right, can it, Sammy?" Dean snarled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sam swallowed, hard. He really did not want to have this conversation with Dean, especially when his brother wasn't sober (which was more often than not, these days).

"That's what I said, Dean."

Dean stomped over to the kitchen table and slammed his glass down, splashing its contents. He placed both hands on the worn tabletop, and leaned forward, glaring.

"Well that's a pretty fucking ballsy statement, because I can think of a few situations that disprove your little theory!"

Sam stood up from the table, holding his hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. "Dean – " but he was cut off.

"Let's see here...well we've got me going to Hell for you, because that was such a fucking picnic!" Dean said, ticking off his fingers. "There's me dropping out of high school and barely getting my GED so I could take care of you, me never getting a chance at college all for the good ol' fucking 'family business!' Oh and we can't forget Purgatory!"

"Oh ok, so it's all my fault then!" Sam cried, throwing up his hands; he was starting to get fired up as well, now.

"No, damn it, I'm not saying it's all your fucking fault! I'm just saying to fucking think before you go around accusing me of shit that's not true!"

"Fine, but you know what, Dean? This bullshit with...with Gadreel, or whoever the hell he was? You can say whatever you want but you still did all of that for you, because you didn't want to be alone, you selfish son of a bitch!"

"Oh give me a fucking break," Dean replied, his face incredulous.

"It's true!"

"I saved your fucking life! How 'bout a little fucking gratitude?!"

Sam shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so done.

"You're missing the whole damn point." He turned to leave. "Whatever, man."

BOOM.

There came the explosion. Dean snatched his whiskey glass off the table and whipped it across the kitchen; it shattered against a wall, making Sam jump. Wide-eyed, he spun around and stared at his brother. Dean looked about ready to take a swing at him, and Sam braced himself.

"No, Sam, not 'whatever!' You don't even know the half of it! The shit I had to do for you! For this fucked up excuse of a family!" Dean was breathing heavily now and there wasn't just anger in his eyes, but something else that Sam couldn't identify.

"You don't even know...hell, Dad never even knew...no one..."

Dean seemed to be talking to himself now. Running a hand across his face, he turned away from Sam and began pacing, all the while nervously fidgeting with the frayed edge of his button-up. Sam watched him, completely bewildered by Dean's nervous behavior.

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?" He was actually starting to wish he'd had something to drink, too.

"You don't know what it was like, the shit Dad put on me! Leaving us in some piece of shit motel and shoving a wad of cash in my hand, telling me to look after you and that he'd be back in a few days. Except he was almost always never back within a few days, and the cash almost always ran out! And...and we needed food, Sam; you needed food. And that was always my number one priority, to take care of you."

Sam came around the kitchen table and reached out to Dean but he shrugged him off and sidestepped him, reaching instead for the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Glass gone, he took a long sip from the bottle. He didn't say anything for a minute.

"Dean...I know all those things – "

"No! No you don't. Not all of it. I had to get money for us somehow, Sam." Dean's voice got quieter now, he wasn't yelling anymore. He also got real still. Sam had never seen his brother look this way before: he looked very small. Dean continued: "Stealing didn't always work, and I didn't want a repeat of the boys' home...God, Dad was so pissed about that. I wasn't old enough to get into the bars for a pool game, even with a fake. I mean...sometimes it worked but sometimes it didn't. And you know I'm not that great at cards, you were always better...you got that great poker face," Dean chuckled, quietly.

Sam could feel his heart pounding. He didn't want Dean to continue because he was afraid of what he was going to hear, of what he suspected Dean was going to tell him. But he couldn't bring himself to tell his brother to stop talking when he clearly needed to get this off his chest.

"I did whatever I could to get money. If I was lucky, I could find some odd jobs here and there. But other times..." Dean paused for a second and swallowed hard, refusing to look at Sam. He took another pull from the bottle. Sam noticed his hands were shaking, slightly. His own hands were shaking, too. "...other times, not so lucky. I had to do other things to get money," Dean looked at his brother, pleading. "I had no choice, Sammy. Some days it was that or go hungry."

Sam shook his head. No. No no no. This is not where this conversation is going. This does not mean what he thinks it means. There's no way his brother had to – he collapsed into one of the chairs.

"Sam." Dean had grabbed him by the shoulders and was shaking him a little. "Sam, do you get what I'm saying?"

Sam sat there, dumbstruck. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He never knew...after all this time, he never knew about that. Without meaning to he found himself asking:

"When...when did you first – "

"I was 15."

Sam suddenly felt nauseated. He was staring up at Dean, like he was seeing him for the first time. He started to think back, now, to all those times Dean would "go out." Those trips would usually end with Dean coming back with a bag of fast food and sometimes even milkshakes, which would make Sam hoot with delight; a special treat. His brother would always be real quiet on those nights, too. Now, knowing how this food had been paid for made Sam sick to his stomach. A real treat...right.

"Dean...I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Sam could feel bile rising in his throat.

"Yeah, well now you do." Dean brushed past his younger brother and grabbed his coat off the back of the other chair.

"Dean, wait!"

"Leave it alone, Sam; just fucking drop it. It's in the fucking past, so just leave it there."

Dean started up the stairs that led from the kitchen to the main level of the Bunker.

"Where are you going?!"

"Out!"

Sam listened as Dean stomped through the library, and up the stairs. He heard the heavy door slam. He then ran to the sink and threw up.

Whew. That was intense! Hold onto your hats 'cus part 2 is on it's way! If you liked this, then be sure to check out my profile page for another SPN work-in-progress and other stories.