Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.
Pre series
Sam,Dean, John,Bobby
Wincest
==000==
At fifteen years of age, Dean Winchester shot his father, grabbed his younger brother, ripped the keys to the Impala from the counter and fled.
==000==
They had no money and Dean did not know what to do. He had taken all the cash he could get from the one credit card he dared use. The other had forced him to run as the shop owner looked at him askance and demanded ID. Of course it did not match. Dean's ID put him at seventeen, old enough to drive but not much else. On close inspection, no one was liable to believe it anyway. Dean Winchester was 'blessed' with good looks, boyish good looks. Now he had less than a dollar in his pocket, the emergency stash under the back seat of the car long gone.
He was getting desperate.
Hanging around outside the convenience store, he debated the chances of shoplifting without getting caught. He bit his lip, hands fisted in his pockets, one foot rubbing against his other leg, the denim worn and thin, the boot getting too small for his foot. He was hungry. Worse, Sammy was hungry.
"You lost or just waiting?"
Dean barely hid his surprise as the man spoke to him. "For what?" he said without thinking. He did not look cop or social worker, both of which he was having to hide from. He appeared like a man on his lunch break and Dean thought, he studied him as if he was on the menu.
"I'll give you thirty bucks if you come with me into that ally." Indicating with his head.
Dean knew what he meant. What he wanted in the ally. Dean looked that way, then back at the man, then the ground. If he did that, if he led the man around the corner and into the ally, then got down on his knees, it would be enough to feed Sammy for a week if he was careful. He looked across at the car and saw his brother, eyes wide, as the boy pressed his hands to the window watching his every move.
It would be easy wouldn't it? It was not as if this was the first time he had been offered money. Dean had been propositioned several times before but, Dean had a notion. Possibly a romantic notion, but he truly believed that the first time you 'gave it up', it should be for someone you loved, or at least liked.
"Well?" the man asked getting impatient.
Dean looked at him once more, then at the Impala. If he did this, it would have all been pointless. All the struggling to stretch what little money they had, could make on the rare odd job he could find. The going hungry so Sammy did not have to. The degrading hanging around behind bakeries and grocers until they threw out the days stale bread or out of date produce. He shook his head and moved away easily avoiding the hand as it made a grab for his arm.
He felt the coins in his pocket, rubbing them together as he had done so many times these last few days. Quickly looking around, making sure Sammy was still safely locked in the car, he spotted the phone booth.
He did not know what else to do. He thought he was slowly losing it, whatever 'it' was. But he knew he was losing. The only thing that had been keeping him sane, keeping him whole, was the warm soft breaths against his neck as he held his brother tight, desperately trying to keep him warm under the worn blanket in the back of the Impala. The only bed, the only home they had had for the last eleven months.
It took a while. Stood with the handset held tight, his knuckles white, he argued all the pros and cons yet again. He dialled, he waited and after an eternity a gruff voice demanded, "Yeah?"
Dean swallowed, for better or worse he admitted finally, "Caleb, I think I need help. I don't know what to do."
==000==
Dean took his phone from his jacket for the third time, entering Sam's number then closing and putting it away without calling. He fiddled with the beer bottle on the bar and sighed. He missed his brother. He was lonely but in no mood to spend the evening with either of the two women that had approached him. He knocked back the beer thinking to leave and go to a different type of bar, but instead, caught the barman's attention motioning for another. He could not summon up the will to move.
The days hunt had left him cold. A simple salt and burn, but the image of the young boy screaming his pain, anger and frustration had gotten to him. He seldom liked to dwell on the reasons behind why 'people' stayed long past their use by date. Get in, waste the thing and get out, be it a monster, human or otherwise, a thing from nightmare or the ghost of a nine year old boy. But…..
The look in the boy's, thing's, he corrected himself, eyes, had reminded him so much of those times early on when his brother would turn to him and ask yet again, 'why?' and he had no answer to give him. The only thing he could give him was love and he did. He would pull Sammy into a hug and just rock him, apologising over and over again that he had no answer.
That day Dean had thought he was going to die, that Sammy would die, that their ...John would die. It had been horrific. The beast had so many fangs, so sharp and long and it had had Dean by the throat. Then it had all gone black, the last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was Sam screaming his name.
When he had come to, he could still hear Sam calling his name. As he shook his head to clear it he heard the fear in his brother's voice and looked up to see a gun pointed at Sam's head. Held by their father.
From that day on, Dean's whole world had been protecting and loving his brother even more than before. At least Sam had that. People who loved him. He thought of that ghost again. From his research and the look on the things face, he hazarded that the boy had never known that. At least he was at peace now. Dean had done that much for the 'kid'.
He pulled the phone out once more. Sam answered groggily on the fifth ring. "Hey Dean. You okay?" and he immediately felt better at the concern he heard in his brother's voice.
"Yeah. Guess I woke you." quietly, smiling fondly.
"Doesn't matter. Where are you?" and Dean could hear the yawn, imagined as he ran a hand up through the dark bed tussled hair.
"Some bar feeling sorry for myself." And laughed. It was not what he had meant to say.
"Where? Close enough to come see me?" a hint of eagerness that made him grin.
"No" laughing lightly. It would have to be Dean that went to Sam. Sam did not have a car. No matter how many Bobby had offered him, he never took one. Made sense in a kind of way Dean supposed. Sam had spent too much of his childhood in the back of one. Until Bobby had taken them in.
Once more he had a rush of gratitude to Caleb for helping them. For taking them to Singer's Scrap yard. He often wondered at the 'what ifs' if Caleb had not balked at the idea of having two teenagers to take care of. But he had found them a home and it had been a damned good one too under the circumstances.
"So…what's wrong?"
"Nothin'"
"Dean!"
"Fine. Had a bad one."
"You hurt?" cutting in immediately worried.
"No. No. I'm fine. Just got me thinking."
"And..?"
"Just kinda…you know. Just wanted to hear your voice." He could have smacked himself in the head for that. Especially as Sam chuckled.
"How many you had? One too many or one too few?"
"Both." Laughing at himself. "Go back to sleep. I'll call Thursday as usual."
"You sure? I can talk now."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Go sleep. I'm gonna turn in myself."
"Okay. See ya. Luv ya."
"Yeah. Night Sammy. See ya. Luv ya." And, smiling a little sadly, but feeling a whole world better, he called for a glass of whisky and set to thinking about that other bar again. Maybe he could find someone tall, dark and handsome. He'd never be the man of his dreams though. That role was already taken.
==000==
Another night, another bar. Maybe it was time he went home. He had been gone for over a month now and although Bobby knew he was okay, there had been plenty of hints in the last phone call about coming back to the junkyard. But it was not the same with just the two of them. Sometimes he would play music too loud just to hear Bobby yell like he always did at Sam.
Maybe he should go home. Could be Bobby was missing them both. He always said how he preferred the company of Rumsfeld, but neither of them ever believed him. Yes, he decided, tomorrow he would go home.
"Can I buy you a drink?" the voice gruff, as the man slid onto the stool next to Dean.
He just continued to stare blindly into the bottom of his glass, the thick liquor swirling in the depths. "No." short with no emotion. The best way to handle unwanted attention was to ignore it. Worked on things like emotions too, but sometimes they, like people were persistent and needed more to take the hint.
"You hate me that much, that you won't even have a drink with me?" Dean froze as his heart missed a beat, then another, before it kick started again. He knew that voice. "It's not that much to ask. A drink after all these years." Dean just blinked as his eyes stung. "In fact you should buy me one as thanks."
"For what?" he could not help but ask, unable to move.
"For not tracking you down and kicking your ass for the bullet you left in me."
Dean knocked back his drink and swivelled off the stool showing his back to the man that had once been his father. He stated, "Then we're even."
"How so?" equally curious and amused.
"For not tracking you down and finishing the job." Dean held it all tightly together, the anger, the shock, the fear of John Winchester finding him and, throwing a couple of bills on the bar, calmly walked from the building. He did not look at the man once. To do that would be to acknowledge his existence, the power he had over him. Sammy, he had to get to Sammy. Before John did.
Once outside the bar, checking to be confident he had not been followed, Dean ran.
==000==
TBC...