This story is a Pre-series AU. Teen!chesters in effect. Dean is 18 and Sam is 14.

WARNING!!: This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual abuse as it remembered and/or worked on to help heal.

This chapter contains graphic descriptions of injuries from sexual abuse and violence.

If you do not wish to read a story that contains rape/non-con, please move along now!!!! Flamers will not be tolerated!

Shifts in POV will occur to give a better perspective of all involved. Hopefully, if I do this right, you will be able to follow them with ease.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognizable characters, I merely borrowed them for the duration of this story.

I'll Take Care of You

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Chapter 1:

Lost and Found…

"Dad…Stop the car!!!!" Sam yelled. He worked furiously at his restraining seat belt.

John was startled. He glanced worriedly at his son. Sam's frantic eyes gave him pause and he slammed hard on the brakes. Sam was out the door before the Impala had even stopped moving. "Sam!!!!!! Dammit, son, wait for me!!!" He bellowed. His youngest didn't even register his words as he took off at breakneck speed toward a distant section of the dilapidated warehouse. John bolted after him, losing sight of Sam quickly as he rounded a corner and disappeared. His hunting senses kicked in and he found himself having to track his young son now instead of the preternatural evil he usually took on. He heard a door open quietly in the distance, its hinges creaking softly from years of disuse. He jogged in that direction. There were any number of options in this God-forsaken maze of buildings he found himself in. He was growing frustrated and fearful with each growing second that Sam was out of his sight. He'd already lost his eldest and he couldn't fathom losing Sam too. He heard a shot ring out from the far end of the straight away, next to the pier. He ran as fast as he could toward the bleak noise, his heart pumping furiously with fear and adrenaline. 'Please, God…I know we aren't on the best of terms, but please…let Sammy be ok…please, please don't take him away too…He's so lost without his big brother, he's already almost gone and I can't lose him. I won't lose him! Please don't take my boy away from me…' John prayed silently as he finally rounded the corner of the building and caught sight of the open door. He slowed his stride, creeping inside with the stealth of a stalking panther. His years as a hunter had lead him to be damn near silent when he needed to get the drop on his prey. The building was dim and still, it's ominous depths broken infrequently with shafts of light from broken windows piercing the gloom. He never wavered. His eyes adjusted rapidly, at home and in their element in the shifting dark as he moving rapidly but cautiously through the squalor and filth scattered on the floor. The silence was deafening for a long, tense, seemingly eternal span of time before it was finally broken by the screamed utterances of a young voice, a voice he'd recognize anywhere as his youngest son's. He pelted toward the sounds, his mind trying desperately to not panic, but his trip-hammer heart over-ruled him, flooding him with terror.

"Sammy!?!?!" he bellowed. He slid around a corner and through the open doorway of what had most likely been the office space of the now defunct building. The sight that awaited him stole the very breath from his lungs. He couldn't move for a long moment, too enraptured by the terrible scene before him. His mind kicked into overdrive and he belted forward toward the distant figure of his son. "Sammy!!!!!!" he screamed out as he panted out his breaths. His son was levering a ragged, limp form to the ground as he finally caught up to his youngest. He took in the surroundings more thoroughly. A man lay bleeding and unconscious on the ground to his left. He saw small faces peering out at him from filthy cages along the far wall. He closed the final distance rapidly, drawing close to his son. Sam started to attention as John came to a halt a few feet in front of him. Sam leveled and cocked his gun, prepared to kill for and protect the limp figure he knelt beside. John's eyes blew wide as he recognized he broken body Sam knelt beside. He stumbled, his knees failing as he collapsed in front of him. Sam's slightly tremoring hand finally lowered his gun, his eyes registering that it was his father in front of him and not another enemy to take down. His youngest's eyes gleamed wetly, as did the tears that coursed heavily down his cheeks as he locked eyes with his father for a long moment before shifting back down to the figure on the floor.

"Oh God….Dean………." he gasped, tears flooding his eyes as well as he beheld his eldest cradled in the arms of his little brother. He reached out a shaking hand to feel for a pulse on his unnaturally still son's body before he caught sight of the slow rise and fall of his bruised and blood-caked chest. He reached out his tentative fingers to place his palm on the blood-smeared cheek and jaw of his eldest boy. "Dean…" he whispered, his thumb stroking gently on the prominent ridge of his hollowed cheekbone. "Son, can you hear me?" he said softly. Dean never moved or responded. The once terrible beauty of his gleaming and mischievous emerald eyes was now left in a haunting, coldly vacant stare. 'The lights are on, but nobody's home…' a sadistic bastard of a voice whispered in his mind. He swallowed hard, his gaze raking over Dean's body. He was naked and unnaturally pale. His once lithe, lightly muscled form was now gaunt and malnourished and all the musculature had atrophied away. His body was road-map of scars and welts, blood and grime. His limp arms ended with raw, scarred and bruised wrists and he was pretty sure the left one was fractured or broken. His throat was ringed in bruises of obvious finger marks and cord or rope marks as well as suction bruises and even several wounds that he suspected were bite marks. The once prominent, soft curves of his lips were stained in oxblood tones and were swollen and heavily bruised, the corners marred with repeatedly torn and healed over tears in the flesh. He could see the burns from cigarettes on his eldest's limbs and torso. Cuts of various depths and sizes marred his flesh all over his body except his face. Vibrantly bright whip marks streaked over the Dean's back as well as the backs of his thighs and his backside. It appeared some were healed, while others were most definitely recent. His son's groin was heavily bruised, marked with deep, angry welts that looked as though the flesh had been pinched with clamps. John already felt as though he was on the verge of vomiting, the bile hovering just inside of his raw throat, when he saw the most terrible wounds of all. Dean's backside was bruised, caked with dried and flaking blood and grime. His entrance was torn wide and was scarred heavily from extensive abuse. John's head collapsed forward into his hands. He shook with terrible sadness and loss. He was just about ready to buckle under the onslaught of pain and anguish at the knowledge of just how much his boy had endured at the hand of the twisted bastard he could see laying unconscious on the floor near him.

John rose to his feet, a terrible fury rushing through him, pumping pure, venomous hate into his veins. A low, guttural growl issued from his throat as he closed the gap between him and the naked man a short distance away. He struck out with his steel-toed boot, finding purchase in the man's stomach. The man bucked under the energy of the movement and he whimpered in his unconscious state but didn't come around. John lashed out, striking the man viciously in his groin over and over again. John pulled his gun from his waist band, leveling it on the man, ready to squeeze the trigger and remove the filth before him from the world for good.

"Dad?..." he heard a voice say softly from behind him, "…don't. He doesn't deserve a quick death…besides, we need to get the other kids help and get Dean out of here." Sam said, his voice resounding with truth and wisdom beyond his years. His son's words gave him pause. Part of him wanted to refuse the words, to take his vengeance right here and now, but an even bigger part wanted the man to suffer heavily for everything he had done. Sam was right, he didn't deserve a quick death. His placed his gun back into its hiding spot beneath his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed 911. There was a long pause before a clipped and professional female voice issued from over the phone. It was quickly stolen away by static and he cursed under his breath and he wandered away from his sons to find a signal. Finally the voice became clearer.

"Hello? Please state the nature of the emergency. This is an emergency line and we can not tie up the line if this not an emergency call…" the voice issued huffily. "I am ending this call…"

"Wait!!" John said as he finally got heard.

"Sir? Can you hear me? Do you have an emergency to report?" the woman said more forcefully.

"Can you hear me? I need to report a crime. A man has a bunch of kids locked in cages in a warehouse by the water front. They've been abused. The man is bleeding from a stomach wound. You gotta send help ASAP!" John said.

"Sir? You said a man has children in cages and he himself has been wounded?" she asked.

"Yes. I believe he is the man responsible for all the disappearances of the children in the neighboring cities..." John said curtly.

"Can you give me an exact location?" she said urgently.

John took a moment to place himself in the position of where he had pulled off and then mentally tracked his location from there. "Take Waterman street south from Bender Rd., turn right at the first building, go up two buildings, turn left, proceed straight forward for three building and then turn left again. It's the building closest to the pier. The door is open, he and the children are in the back of the building where the offices used to be. Better hurry, he doesn't look too good…" John said, toeing the man's limp form.

"Sir? Emergency Services are on their way. Can you give me your name?" the woman croaked out.

"My name?" John said, he purposely strode back into the static-filled depths of the warehouse. "My name is…" he said , pausing for a long moment then snapping the phone closed and turning it off, hoping they took it as a dropped signal. He spun on his heel, returning to his sons' sides. He looked around briefly, finding an old canvas tarpin. He dragged it over to Dean.

"Sammy? I got him, son. I need you to go get the car." John said quietly as he wrapped his eldest boy's broken body in the tarp to give him a measure of modesty back.

Sam glared at his father. "No, I'm not leaving him!" he shouted harshly.

John bodily lifted Dean in his arms, wincing in sympathetic pain for his boy as he gripped his son tightly to him, vaguely noting how much thinner and lighter his son was. He turned his attention back to his youngest son. "Samuel Winchester, I am giving you a direct order. Now you take the keys from my pocket and go get the car!!! I will carry Dean." John shouted, hating to have to yell at his youngest son, but he needed to get them the hell out of Dodge and he knew he couldn't carry Dean all the way back to the car from there. Sam glared daggers at him, still refusing to move.

"Now, Sam!!" he shouted. Sam made no move to go. John sighed deeply at his youngest's defiance. He needed to shift tactics if he was going to get his son to listen to him. "Sammy?" he said softly, appealing to his youngest's tender nature, "…son, I need you to go get the car. I can't carry your brother that far and we need to get out of here before the police arrive. Please son, I know you don't want to leave your brother but I've got him and we need to go. Please, take the keys and go for the car."

Sam's eyes welled with fresh tears. He never wanted to leave his brother's side again now that he had found him at last but he knew his father was right. They needed to get out of here and get help for Dean. He swallowed hard, nodding to his father. He deftly picked the keys from his father's pocket and, taking one last look at his big brother, he bolted out the way he came, back toward the car. He was just coming into a growth spurt, his legs disproportionately long and his gait was still coltish and ungainly as he fought to rewrite his movement style to accommodate them. John watched him go for a moment simultaneously proud at the fact that he never felt his son's fingers on his body as he slipped the keys out of his pocket and also a little sad that he should be proud of his boy being so good at stealing. He pushed it out of his mind and turned toward the cages. Whimpers and sobs issued from their depths as he peered cautiously into the metal enclosures. Keeping his tone soft and gentle so he didn't frighten them further he said "Don't worry, help is coming. Just hang on, ok?" A few of the more reactive children nodded, but for the most part, the children just stared back at him, looking for all the world like broken rag dolls. He swallowed hard to fight to keep the bile from rising past his throat. There was at least a dozen of them, if not more. How many more had the sick bastard taken and used over the years before discarding their broken bodies and acquiring new, helpless young children to devastate and destroy. John fiercely wished that what he heard about what they did to child molesters in prison was true. He always had heard that they were found extremely distasteful by the other prisoners and were often subjected to the same treatment they had laid upon the children they abused.

John strode over to the man's heaped form. His face twisted in a sneer of pure hate. "I hope you are raped and beaten every single day for the rest of your life, you sick fuck and then burn in Hell for all eternity…" John growled menacingly down to the man. He knew, without a doubt, Hell was a real place. He prayed to whatever God that might be listening that he let the man live long enough to suffer every twisted torment he had once dished out before casting the bastard into the fiery depths once and for all. He turned, hefting Dean's body into a better grip and made to stalk toward the entrance when a small, quietly sad voice called out.

"Hey mister?" the young, broken voice said. He turned back to the cages, trying to identify the speaker. A slightly older boy of perhaps 12 or 13 was cradling a younger boy who was about 9 years old close to his body. The boy pressed himself closer to the bars. John moved closer to him.

"Hey there...what's your name, son?" John asked gently.

The quiet boy studied him intently for a moment before answering. "George. My name is George. This is my little brother Jimmy…" he said squeezing the little boy tighter.

John's legs just about gave out. Instantly, he was putting Sam in these boys' place and he fought desperately not to vomit. His eyes clouded over with tears and he closed them tight for a moment to fight inside himself for control again. He took a deep inhale of air, letting it fill him up and then he let it issue out of himself slowly as he tried to hold it together with his tattered and frayed nerves. He looked back at the young brothers, willing himself to speak, even as his heart was breaking.

"Hey, George, my name is John. This is my boy Dean. I'm gonna get him help. I'm gonna get you all help and get you home to your families, ok?" he said softly. The boy nodded.

"John, can you thank Dean for me?" George asked quietly.

"Course I can, George. Can I ask you what for?" John said. The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Hey…it's ok. You don't have to tell me." John said, trying to ease the pain of the child.

"No. Its ok." George said, steeling his nerve. "When the man took us, it was because he was after my little brother. He grabbed me too because he couldn't pry us apart. He used to beat me while Jimmy watched, he'd hurt me to get to Jimmy. When he first…um,...took...my brother…I was too out of it to stop him. Dean started screaming at the man, telling him to stop, begging him to take him instead. He said the man could do anything he wanted to him if he let my brother alone. The man brought my brother back, taking Dean instead. I guess having someone be willing to do anything must have made him happy or something… He hurt Dean over and over again, and all the time Dean let him because the man told him if he stopped being cooperative he'd come back for my brother. From that day on, anytime the man would start in on any of the other kids, Dean would beg him to take him instead. The man always obliged. Dean stopped all of us from being hurt for a very long time. Sometimes Dean would be too messed up to take and the man would take one of the others instead, but for the most part, Dean kept us all from being hurt anymore. After a while, he stopped speaking or doing anything. That was almost 2 weeks ago. It didn't stop the man from taking him, though, it actually made him take him even more often…" George said, his eyes spilling over with tears and his tiny voice shook. He steeled his nerves one last time because this was important and he knew he never get the chance again. "Can you thank Dean for watching over us all? For saving us? For saving Jimmy when I couldn't?" he whispered.

John's mind reeled at what the young boy told him. Dean put himself in harm's way to defend innocents time after time. God, Dean really was the most selfless soul he'd ever known. His son both saddened and amazed him with how willing he was to sacrifice himself to save others. John shifted Dean's body up onto his forearm so he could reach out his hand. The boy looked at him tentatively for a long moment before reaching out to take it in his own. John squeezed it softly, holding it for a moment. He locked eyes with George, his own eyes thanking the boy for telling him what his son had done for them. "I will, son. I promise." John said.

George squeezed his hand back, nodding. "Thank you." He whispered before he withdrew his hand. He reached out to Dean, his small palm gently resting on Dean's shoulder briefly before retreating back into the bars of the cage to clutch his little brother even tighter.

John shifted Dean into more stable hold and turned to go. He distantly heard the faint mewling cries of the oncoming sirens. He hoped Sam was faster then the lawmen bearing down on them. He heard the growling rumble of the Impala closing in rapidly. He heard the tires squeal as it rounded the distant corner then again when it roared around the final corner. He exited the building just in time to watch it slam to a halt not 3 feet from him. Sam surged out and wrenched the back door open, throwing himself in and sliding his way down the slick seat. John leaned down, levering his son's body into the tight space, Sam doing his best to take Dean from him. Finally he got Dean situated enough that he could close the door, leaving Sam to adjust his brother's body into a more comfortable position while threw himself into the driver's seat and slammed the black beast into gear. They surged forward and around the corner in the opposite direction of the approaching sirens of John Q. Law. He drove hard and fast, plowing through back alleys and side streets until they were safely away from the scene.

Now that they were safely away, John stole a long glance to the backseat to look upon his boys. What he saw damn near broke his heart all over again. Sam had Dean cradled to his chest, laying on his side to ease the incredible pain that must be present from all the wounds on his back. Sam alternated stroking his big brother's hair and face softly and trailing his fingers gently down his brother's shoulder and arm, whispering soothing words to the broken man in his lap. He rocked them both lightly, making sure to be as tender and careful as he could be so he didn't hurt his brother even more. "Don't worry big brother, I'm gonna take care of you…you always took care of me, raised me up while dad was away, made me the person I am today. I'm gonna get you better if it's the last thing I do. Just hang on, Dean. I've got you. I'll take care of you, I promise…" Sam whispered softly, his words a ceaseless stream of comfort and love.

John had to turn away, the pain of the words and the sight making him on the verge of breaking down completely. He couldn't do that, he needed to be strong for his boys. They needed help. He swallowed hard, his pride bristling briefly before he inwardly told it to shut the Hell up. He reached deep in his pocket, pulling his phone out and dialing the number his heart never let him truly forget. Though they weren't on the best of terms, he knew deep down that Bobby Singer loved the boys as his own, having never had the chance to have a family of his own. If anyone could care for his sons the way he did, he knew it would be Bobby. The line snapped open, a brief rustling sound issued from the other end of the line before a gruff voice sounded over the air. "Winchester? That you? This had better be good 'cause I still ain't forgot about the last time you came 'round…"

John smiled bitterly for a moment remembering how Bobby had chased him out of his house with a cocked and loaded shot gun. He really had deserved it, him and his big damn mouth and ego. He was surprised it hadn't happened years sooner. Bobby had always had more patience and grace then he had given him credit for. The last time he was there, he had bitterly employed a scorched-earth methodology to raze his long-standing friendship right into the ground. "Yeah, Bobby…it's me. I need your help…it's Dean. He's…he's real bad, Bobby. He was kidnapped almost 5 months ago. I thought he was dead…I,…well, actually Sam found him today by accident or luck or…I don't really know how he found him, but he did. He's alive, but he's been hurt pretty bad…" John stopped for a moment to let his words sink in. Bobby fairly erupted over the phone.

"What!?!?!!?!?!?!?! That boy was kidnapped and you didn't pick up the Goddamn phone to tell me?!?! What the fuck is the matter with you, you stupid bastard!!!! Don't you think I'd wanna know if some 'un bad happened to your boys? I mean Hell, I helped raise them!!!! I love 'um like they were my own sons!!! I am so kicking your ass for this, John…you can count on that…You get your ass here on the double. I'll have my pal Silas get his ass over here. He's a doctor, he can help…" Bobby growled out.

John knew he deserved the ass-kicking he was sure to receive from Bobby. The man had been around for more of the boy's childhood then he had, he supposed. How could he not have called him? He bit back the disgust he already nursing for himself. 'Cause he's right, I am a bastard', he thought. He swallowed hard, knowing he had to give Bobby the full story in order to get Dean all the help he was gonna need. "There's something else…He was…" John broke off for a moment as he choked back a sob, tears broke free of their lashed confines and strolled unabated down his face. "…he was abused Bobby…in every sense of the word." he almost whispered, as if by not speaking the words loudly he could make them not true.

"Oh sweet Jesus, no…" he heard Bobby gasp and heard a heavy thud on the other end of the line.

"Bobby?" he said worriedly into the phone. After a few moments, he could hear Bobby speaking softly on the other end. "…not Dean…God, why did it have to be Dean…Hasn't that boy suffered enough already?..." John couldn't agree more. He was stopped at a stoplight as he made his way out of the town they had just blazed through. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, before swiping his rough palm over his face. He glanced back at his son's in the rear-view mirror, quickly turning away when his emotions spiked violently. He surged forward from the light, barreling headlong toward the sanctuary of Bobby's house. "I know, Bobby…I know…" he said dejectedly.

Bobby seemed to have got it together enough to get back on the line. "Get here John, as quick as you can. I'll tell Silas what's goin' on, so he'll be prepared. Is he awake?" Bobby asked sadly.

"He's catatonic Bobby…it's like the lights are on but nobody's home…" John said softly so he wouldn't disturb Sam.

Bobby cleared his throat heavily on the other end, and he knew without a doubt that Bobby was thinking the exact same thing he was thinking, but neither one of them was willing to give a voice to that thought. 'We may already be too late to save him…' his asshole of a subconscious whispered.

"He's a tough kid, John…he'll pull through." Bobby said, but the conviction didn't read in his voice.

"I'll be there in 6 hours, maybe 7…I…um…I'm sorry Bobby…" he sighed, the bitterness and disgust at himself weighing heavily on him.

"No you ain't…not yet anyways...We're gonna have a real long chat about things when Dean is on his way to being on the mend, you mark my words." Bobby growled out.

His mouth tugged in one corner slightly, knowing that the man on the other end of the line still cared enough for him to call him on how much of a bastard he was. His heart swelled with the knowledge that if anything ever happened to him, Bobby would be there to watch over his boys. "Duly noted Bobby. And thanks…for everything…" he said sadly.

"Your welcome, ya idjit…" he said gruffly before the line snapped off.

John tucked the phone away, stealing a small glance at his son's before gripping the steering wheel tighter and throwing himself into the task of putting rubber to the road. 'Hold on boys, I'm gonna make this right if it's the last thing I do….' he thought.

A/N: Ok, I've written a lot of dark and angsty stuff before but this one is gonna be real dark and angsty for a while, so hold on to your hats.….

As always, please, please, PLEASE Read & Review!!!

Also, I have updated the links to my Supernatural line of jewelry I have for sale on eBay, including replicas of the Mary Winchester Hunter's Protection bracelet (as seen in the episode 'In the Beginning') and the Dean Winchester Skull bracelet (worn from season 2 to present), and other Superntaural-themed bracelets!!! The links are now current so if you wish to see them, they are handily located on my Profile!!!!

I can also get ahold of replicas of the Dean Winchester Protection Amulet, if anybody is interested.

Thank you everybody for reading my work!! *hugs*