A/N! Hey there! Long time! I was on vacation and now I am back! Mick's line had been in my mind for a long time and so when I finally came back to my computer, the story kind of wrote itself. WARNING!

Implied Prostitution: But nothing too graphic.

No beta reader, sorry. All mistakes are my own.

So, off we go!

Full Summary:

Taking place after 12x17 "British Invation" "I picked a member's pocket..." Mick's words huant Sam and he wonders just how many times Dean had had to steal in order for them to get by. The British men of Letters answer his question for him and Sam finds out that Dean did whatever he had to in order to get money for Sam...

Warnings:

Season 12 Spoilers
Post episode 12x17
Implied/Referenced Prostitution
Wincest (Sam/Dean)

Established Relationship

Mild Sexual Content

Vomiting

Top Sam

Bottom Dean

You Have been WARNED!

Enjoy!

"Green-eyed Robin Hood"

"So, Dagon is a yellow eyed bitch..." Dean grunted as he sank further into one of the banker's chairs, a bottle of beer in one hand, the Colt in the other. His comment about their latest foe fell on deaf ears however, as Sam, who was sitting across from Dean on another chair, seemed lost in his thoughts. His long hands were resting on the wooden desk and his head was bowed, brown locks hiding his hazel eyes.

Dean took a sip of his beer, relishing its coolness, all the while placing the Colt on the desk, which lay in front of him. The small thumping noise echoed loud in the overall quiet room. Sam's right hand twitched slightly, but the hunter remained silent and still. "This is about Eillen, isn't it?" Dean questioned, or rather stated, voice low, gentle. "Look, Sam, she needs some time, she will be back and then you two can go out on a date, or do something nerdy together." Dean continued, his tone now somewhat lighter.

"How many times, Dean?" Fine brows came together as Dean's face frowned at the sound of Sam's muttered pile of words. He was still hiding his eyes from his brother and his elegant fingers were clenched into fists. Dean tried to scrutinize his brother's face, only to curse inwardly for those damn long hair, which hid those beautiful hazel orbs from view. "How many times what, Sam?" Dean questioned, stretching his back upwards. "How many times have you-" His fragile voice trailed off however and a shudder worked its way down his spine, as Sam tried to speak.

Dean moved his chair closer to the desk and extended his trained hands, taking a hold of Sam's fists, willing his brother's fingers to relax. It was a simple gesture, but it meant that Dean was there, waiting for Sam to put his thoughts in order. "How many times have you had to steal money from someone?" Dean froze on his chair. Damn it, Sam and his big, nerdy brain... "So, this isn't about the girl." Dean mumbled in between his teeth. "This is because of what that Mick guy said earlier, isn't it?" asked the green eyed man, voice eerie low. Silence was all he got as an answer, and a weary sigh left his parted lips.

"Look, Sam, that's all in the past, okay?" Dean stated, desperately trying to find a way out of this conversation. Because he really didn't want to talk about it. Sam's lips twisted upwards ever so slightly, but he wasn't offering Dean a smile. To the contrary, his face darkened and the taut muscles under the soft skin of his forearm twitched. Dean pressed his thumb and index finger on each knitted eyebrow, lowering his head. "Fine, don't answer that." Sam muttered after a few long, silent moments. "Answer me this-" "Sam, just forget about it-" But Dean's interjection died in his throat as the older hunter heard what his brother said next.

"How many times have you had to steal for my sake? So that I had food to eat, clothes to wear, books to read?" So much pain and guilt poured out of Sam as he spoke those words, that Dean felt an ache in his chest. Swallowing hard, the older man weighted his options and silence was once again hanging heavy over their heads. "Sammy..." Dean whispered and at the sound of that nickname, hazel eyes met green orbs for the first time in a long while. "I did what I had to do Sam, to keep you- us, to keep us safe, fed, and clothed. Yes, I stole from many people who were having their wallets filled with cash, or were running around in expensive cars." The weight of his own statement threw Dean off, and the green eyed hunter had to bite his lip in order to stop himself from saying anything else.

Sam's eyes shone under the dim light of the bunker's main room, but the younger man turned his watery gaze away from Dean. "Come on now Sam, I may as well call myself Robin Hood. I stole from rich people and gave the money to the poor." Dean added, obliging his lips to form a smile, which he was sure Sam could tell was forced. But it was all he could offer at that moment. A chill worked its way down his spine, as flashes of memories he had wasted too much time suppressing and concealing behind thick walls, emerged on the surface, flooding his troubled mind. Getting to his feet, Dean turned his back on Sam and started walking towards the door, his footsteps louder than usual.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Dean was out of the room, the thumbing of his footsteps now a low, almost inaudible sound, swallowed by the dark corridors of the underground bunker. The younger man let his eyes flutter closed, breathing through the sting of tears, which was burning his eyelids. He reopened his eyes after a while, when he heard the sound of the shower being turned on in one of the nearby bathrooms. His breath hitched as his mind traveled back in time, and Sam let his memories unfold inside his head.

He had always known that the way Dean was earning money wasn't falling in any of the legal categories. Poker and other card games, were the usual means with which Dean armed himself in order to get out the door at noon and bring money back by nightfall. His talent with fixing cars was something he would put in good use whenever the chance would present itself, but those cases were rare and couldn't provide them with the much needed money for clothes, food and shelter.

So Sam was well aware of the fact that his brother was a green-eyed Robin Hood, who would lurk in the shadows, and would steal from those who seemed to have more than their fair share of money, in order to provide for his family. He didn't like it, he never had, but he had kept quiet about it, for if John were to find out, then things could get nasty. There were times over the years however, during which Sam was certain that Dean was lying about the orientation of the money he was dropping down in Sam's grasp. Those times were few and far in between, but they existed nonetheless.

A low, devilish voice would shriek in the back of Sam's head, telling him that there was no way Dean had played poker with the owner of the gas station next to the no-name motel they were occupying. Telling him, that there was no way he had earned two hundred bucks in one night... But Sam had always ignored that small, scary, whispering voice, for the alternative was something he couldn't even think of. No. Dean said that the money came from a card game, and that was the truth.

Only it wasn't. And Sam had come face to face with the cruel and heartless truth a couple of weeks ago, when his mother had invited him in the base of the British Men of Letters. After the Alpha Vampire had been killed, Sam had taken off, wondering around the base. And in a small office, under a thick, old book, he had found a file. On the yellow paper lay Dean's name, written with small yet calligraphic handwriting. Sam hesitated no more than a mere moment before opening the file. Dean's criminal record, photographs of him and Sam in prison, and a full list of the places he had been, were only a few of the things the file had. There, in that file, under Dean's photograph, lingered the paper which confirmed Sam's worst fears.

There was another list, short, yet in Sam's watering gaze, it seemed endless. He stared at the list and tried his best to hold in the bile, which rose up in his throat.

Missouri, February 1994: Gas station. Hand-job. 25$

Illinois, June 1994: Alley. Hand-Jobs. (3) 75$

Oregon, January 1996: Gas Station. Blow-Job (3) 90$
Lebanon, Kansas, March 1996: Gas Station. Blow-Jobs(2) 60$

Sioux Falls, December 1996: Bar. Blow Jobs. (5) 125$

Sam's eyes blurred at some point and his hands trembled, dropping the papers on the cold floor. The younger man wanted to scream, but knew that he would just get caught, should he let out the smallest of sounds. So, without saying a word, and guided by pure instinct, Sam gathered up the papers, threw them in a small bin and set them aflame. The tears which were running down his face were glowing red, and Sam knew they had nothing to do with the smoke which was making his nostrils burn as he inhaled. As the white paper was turning black, Sam's eyes caught one more entrance on that dreadful list...

Michigan, February 2000. Back Alley. Rainy night. Make out, Winchester's hands pinned on the wall. (2) 255$

The reek of gall as well as the one of acid covered the smell of smoke, and the small flames were extinguished as they were coated with a thick, yellow substance, which used to be Sam's lunch. By the time Sam had stopped regurgitating, the last silver-gray wisps of smoke had climbed high above his head and were dancing, swirling around like vines; Vines which were holding Dean captive in a dreadful past, filled with faceless dodies, moldy brick walls, dark stinky alleys and green dollar bills.

Ever since that night, Sam had been restless and tense. His mind was constantly dwelling on those dates, and memories he had pushed aside, deeming them unimportant, were now making sense. In the darkness of Dean's room, Sam lay awake, holding his brother close to him. Holding him close while his mind was putting the pieces together. All the times Dean had been forced to make money by –God, Sam couldn't even think of the word, let alone say it. All those times, John had been gone for more than two weeks. All those times, Dean would skip school the next day. All those times, Sam would get a present. A book, a pair of jeans, a hoodie, a shirt. All those times, Sam would get to eat more than two times a day...

A low, yet deep growl made Sam jump out of his own skin, and got him back on the present and out of his head. His eyes widened as his legs pushed back the wooden chair he was occupying. His steps were unsteady but quiet, leading him towards the bathroom in which his brother had fled. It was in that moment, when Sam pushed the door open and saw Dean leaning heavily against the tiles, forehead hid in the crook of his inner forearm, shoulders trembling, legs shaking, that another, even more dreadful realization hit him. Dean, in all the long years of their on-again, off-again relationship, had never, not once, let Sam take the lead.

He had never allowed Sam to top, and had rarely accepted topping from the bottom. Sam had never given much thought to the why Dean wanted to top, because he really enjoyed bottoming, but now, as he kicked his shoes off so as to enter the bathroom, he could see the real reason why. Sam peeled himself off his shirt with rather steady hands, but let his jeans on. He swallowed soundly as he entered the shower, in order to make his presence known to Dean, but the older man was lost in his own head and frankly, Sam didn't want to know what he was thinking.

Sam hissed, as the way to hot water touched his upper body, a sound which made Dean tense for a second. "Jesus, Dean, are you trying to boil yourself in here?" Sam asked, voice high-pitched and rougher than he intended it to sound. "Get... Get out Sam." Dean croaked, his voice cold, distant, for his mind was dwelling elsewhere. The younger man felt his heart missing a beat, but remained where he was, standing inches away from Dean's trembling frame, not daring to touch the wet skin. "Dean... Look at me... Please, look at me." A weak plea left Sam's lips and the young man felt dizzy, as the sheathing foam was making him lightheaded.

After moments of stillness, Dean turned around and dared to meet his brother's gaze. As soon as hazel met emerald, Dean gasped, a look of horror on his face. Pure horror and self disgust were battling to take over the older man and Dean was sure he would puke right then and there. Because the look on Sam's face spoke volumes. Those eyes, filled with so much guilt and agony and pain and love – wait, where was the hatred? That face, soft and wet, tormented by burdens no one should ever have to carry, was twitched in pain, and anguish...

Sam knew. But how? How could he have known?

But that was a stupid question, Sam knew, he had figured it all out, because he was so smart, and good and pure, and- Dean shuddered, taking a step backwards, hitting the tiles with his back. His eyes flicked, from the wall to the head of the shower, to Sam and then back to the wall. It was the building panic in Dean's green eyes that made Sam take a step back and kneel before his brother, making himself impossibly small. Sam bowed his head as tears started running down his face, hot drops of salty water, which were falling on Dean's feet. "I'm... Dean, I..." But no apology left Sam's lips, for what was the point?

There was no point in apologizing for what had happened. It could never change, it could never be erased. "I... I am sorry I am such a burden-" Sam's voice fainted however, as a sob wrecked his frame, shaking it to its core. "Because of me, you had to let them do those things... And I did nothing..." Sam was having trouble breathing as he tried to mumble words and phrases in between his sobs. But he shouldn't be the one to cry. No, Dean was the one who needed him... This thought made Sam inhale sharply, forcing back another wave of tears, all the while raising his head to meet Dean's gaze.

"Dean, I just wanted to say that-" "Look, Sam... I don't know how you found out..." Dean uttered, knowing there was no point in hiding the truth now. If Sam wanted to leave, then Dean would drown himself in a sea of Whiskey, along with his shame and self-loathing. "The... The Brits... When I went to the base, I found a file..." Sam's raspy voice made Dean flinch and his eyes widened even more at the sound of those words. "I burned it, Dean. I burned it, I swear. No one saw those papers." Sam added, knowing Dean's mind flew to their mother.

Dean shuddered, but managed to speak again. "It wasn't your fault-" "Dean you were... You were-" "I chose to give blow jobs to dudes Sam. No one ever forced me. They couldn't." Dean declared, voice low. "I... I know. But I could have helped you-" "Yeah, because your life wasn't shitty enough already-" "No Dean, it wasn't, because you, and only you, made sure of it!" Sam yelled, getting up on his feet, while waving his hands in anger. "That's good. That's good Sammy." Dean answered calmly, a look of resignation painted across his face. "Dean, no,no-" But Dean cut his brother off.

"I have made calls and choices for which I am not proud of. But when I look back to those days, all I can see is your hands clenching on my shirt as you mutter 'I'm hungry Dean' for the second day in a row. So, no, I am not proud of those choices I made back then, I am not proud of stealing from others, of letting them use me like they did. But If I had to, I would do it again in a second, Sam." Dean stated, turning his face around, towards the wall. He couldn't stand to watch Sam walking away. "I am not going to go away you want me to." Sam muttered, letting his long hands take a hold of Dean's broad shoulders.

"Sam... I... God, Sammy..." But no words left Dean's lips as a shudder wrecked his already trembling body. "I know you would do it again in a second Dean. Just like I know you think that I am disgusted, just like I know that you were trying to get rid of those memories, trying to get... Cleaned." Sam managed to say as he manhandled Dean in his embrace, turning the older man around, getting his face in his hands. "Dean, whatever you think that stains you, it doesn't. It stains my clothes, my books, our guns..." Sam spoke, voice low, breath shinning as his hot puffing exhales were met with the drops of water. "But not you. It doesn't stain you Dean. It never did, it never, ever will." Sam fixed his gaze on Dean as he spoke, and saw those bright gems were filled with tears.

Dean then threw his hands around Sam's shoulders, holding on for dear life, breathing fast and shallow. He let Sam's strong arms become his safe haven, he let everything and everyone fade away. He let his hellish memories become one with the dripping water. And there, in the safety of those arms, Dean, ever so slowly, muttered four words he thought he never would. "Make love to me." Sam slightly lowered his head to look at Dean, his keen eyes scrutinizing every inch of Dean's face. Longing, love, fear, even shyness they were all there, in those green eyes. "You sure?" Sam questioned, making sure to hold Dean's face still with his hands.

Sam heard Dean swallow, and waited patiently for his brother to answer. "Yeah, I'm sure Sammy..." Dean said, chuckling as he spoke. Sam's eyes filled with awe and love as he leaned forwards in order to kiss Dean, slowly, gently, tenderly. Their lips moved as one, their tongues dancing around one another. But then Sam remembered.

Rainy night.

Hands pinned on the wall.

He paused, breaking the kiss to breathe. "Sammy?" Sam raised his eyes, locking his gaze with the head of the shower, from which water was still running down on them. Then, his eyes moved to the wall. "How about getting out of here?" Sam suggested, noticing Dean had traced his gaze. The unspoken gratitude was hanging heavily above them, as Dean's face brightened up. "Hell yeah Sammy, hell yeah." He agreed, letting Sam take him by the hand and guide him in his room.

He let his brother take the lead and worship his body, tend to it like only he knew how. He let Sam open him up and guide him, he let his brother take him with him, and up and up they went, building up their orgasms and when Dean came, he knew for sure, that he had never felt so much love, passion and bliss in his life. Through half closed eyelashes, which were shading his flushed cheeks, Dean smiled at Sam, who was on his side, facing Dean. His right hand was resting on Dean's belly, while the other one was still holding Dean's own hand.

It was the first time after many years, that Dean slept so peacefully, like a child, free of all cares.

It was the first time, after many years, that Dean didn't let go of Sam's hand all night.

A/N! So, here it ends. Loved it? Hated it? I would love to hear your thoughts! Feedback keeps me going!

I think of adding a second chapter, but I am not sure yet. Should you have any idea that you would like to see written as a chapter 2 of this story, feel free to let me know!
I don't know when I will post again, for I have an exam period (again) so I am studying... But I will be back soon! :-)

Love you all,
Usagi