Hola! Just moving something I wrote last month over to this account!

WARNINGS/ENTICEMENTS: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT, Weecest, Original Male Character/Sam, underage sex, underage prostitution, kinda sorta hooker Sam, bottom Sam, injured Dean, protective Dean, hurt not much comfort (until the very end at least)

If you're still reading this, I hope you like it! This is a story about how there is NOTHING Sam won't do for his big brother: Dean is his everything.

You workin' in bars ridin' in cars
Never gonna give it for free
Your apartment with a view on the finest avenue
Lookin' at your beat on the street
You're always pushin', shovin', satisfied with nothing
You bitch you must be gettin' old
So stop your life on the road
All your diggin' for gold
You make me wonder
Yes I wonder
I wonder
Honey, what do you do for money
Honey, what do you do for money
Where do you get your kicks

-"What Do You Do For Money Honey" by AC/DC

"Take care of your brother Sam."

"But Dad-"

"I'll only be gone a few days. You can handle things for that long, can't you?"

"…Yes sir."

"Good. See you soon, Sammy."

And just like that, Sam was left alone with his injured brother for God knows how long. He had no confidence his father would be back when he said he would; he had a bad habit of taking longer than expected.

Two days ago they'd been on a hunt in Wisconsin. Typical werewolf hunt that should've been easy with all the intel they had on the sucker. But of course, Dean had to make it fucking complicated by jumping in front of the damn thing when it leapt at Sam. Bastard had sustained twenty-some stitches in his abdomen and still tried to joke that he was "a motherfucking ninja, Sammy."

Their dad had gotten wind of another hunt in Ohio, so the second Dean was sewn up he packed them up in the Impala and, not wanting to leave Dean alone when injured that badly, left them at the usual shitty motel to go hunt it himself.

It was all so predictable Sam wanted to scream.

But it was his fault Dean was hurt anyway, so he couldn't complain about being left behind to take care of him. He'd do it anyway.

Dean was pumped full of pain meds at the moment and probably wouldn't wake up until the next day anyway. So Sam pulled up a chair next to where his brother lay on the single bed in the room, and settled in to wait.

TWO DAYS LATER

Dean had woken up a few times, but he was barely lucid when he did so. He occasionally mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Sammy" and "ya 'kay?" Sam lulled him back to sleep with reassurances like "I'm fine, Dean. You're the one who had to get sewn back together you idiot," and "We're safe, you can go back to sleep now," while running his fingers through Dean's short spiky hair (that was starting to feel a little greasy and he really hoped Dean would wake up before he had to venture into sponge bath territory).

He lifted up Dean's shirt to take a look at how the multitude of stitches were doing. They looked pretty red and puffy, so he cleaned them again, wincing when Dean moaned in pain in his sleep. The pain meds were running low; they had to be frugal with them.

ONE WEEK LATER

Nine days. Their dad had been gone nine fucking days and still no word on when he'd be back. Not even a fucking call to say "I'm not dead." The bastard didn't answer his phone no matter how many times Sam tried.

The money John had left them ran out two days ago, and the pain medication last night. The meager supply of food they had was rapidly dwindling, even with Sam only eating one meal a day.

Sam grimaced as he wiped the sheen of sweat off Dean's face with a cool damp washcloth. Dean's fever had spiked a couple days ago and he hadn't woken up since. The wound had gone from puffy and inflamed to oozing pus and painful just to look at, seemingly overnight. No matter how many times he cleaned it out with the antiseptic from the first-aid kit, nothing helped. The wound was simply infected and Dean needed antibiotics; the over-the-counter shit wasn't going to cut it either.

He needed money, and he needed it yesterday.

But how was he going to pay for Dean's medication? He might be able to fake a prescription, but there was no way he could actually afford it. Getting a job would take too long, and any place that would hire a fifteen-year-old wouldn't pay that well anyway. The quickest option would probably be to steal it…

Next time their father decided to take off with their fake credit cards and fake insurance card Sam was going to have words with him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The local hospital was pretty small, a glorified clinic really, so at first Sam thought he could be in and out, no problem.

He circled around the building, hidden by shadows and overgrown bushes. There were two guards stationed outside the front entrance and another two at the back exit. He found a tree just outside the guard's view that had a perfect view inside the front of the building and climbed it. A quick glance showed at least two more guards near the nurse's station.

Fuck.

They're in the middle of bumfuck, Ohio, why the fuck where there so many security guards? What is this, the White House?

A couple guards, sure, he could probably give them the slip. Maybe even three or four. But six, with the likely possibility of more? With the medication surely under lock and key? That was a risk he couldn't take, not with Dean depending on him. If he fucked up again and got caught, who would take care of him? Not their dad, that was for sure.

Disgusted, Sam shuffled down the tree and made for the motel.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Hey kid, watch where you're fucking going."

Sam turned and scowled at the man he'd just bumped into. "Excuse me, I think you bumped into me."

"Listen, smartass—Sam?"

The man took a couple steps toward him, into the yellow light of a street lamp. He appeared middle-aged, fit, with a scruffy beard; all-in-all exactly the kind of guy you'd expect skulking around alleys at one in the morning.

"Morgan?"

"Come on Sammy, you're a growing boy, you gotta eat all your food," Dean grinned at him from across the booth.

"But Deeean," Sam whined, "I'm not hungry. I just want to get out of here and meet up with Dad already."

They were stuck in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio, waiting for their father to give them the go-ahead to meet up with him on the next hunt in Michigan. Most schools started in two weeks, and Sam wanted to be sure he was enrolled somewhere in time.

"Sam, I'm serious. When was the last time you cleared your plate?" They were in a freaking Denny's and Dean wanted to have this conversation now?

"It's nothing. Can we just get the check and go?"

"But-"

"Dean." Sam levelled his gaze at his brother and made sure to add a dash of the puppy eyes he knew his brother couldn't resist.

Dean sighed. "Fine. We'll talk about this later. I'm going to hit the head and then pay the bill and we'll be out of here."

Sam watched his brother leave and gave a sigh of relief when he was out of sight. He loved his brother for caring so much, he really did (and that was the fucking problem right?), but sometimes Dean could be just a tad pigheaded when it came to what he thought was best for Sam. So he hadn't been feeling very hungry lately, what was the big deal?

"You're Sam Winchester, John's son, right?"

Sam looked up to see a tall middle-aged man he'd never lain eyes on before approach his table, dressed in clothes that were casual, but subtly hinted at designer origins. "Who's asking?" Sam asked wearily.

"Oh, I'm sorry, please excuse my terrible manners," the man made an exaggerated horrified expression, "I'm Morgan Hilcox, a friend of your father's. I give him a hand when he needs medical supplies due to his, uh, unusual profession."

The youngest Winchester blinked. Did this man know about Hunters? Was that what he was trying to convey? Morgan winked at him and held out a hand to shake. Sam hesitated only a second before taking it. Morgan's fingers practically caressed his own in a way that made his skin scrawl for the one second that it took Dean to shove Morgan out of the way.

"Don't touch my brother," Dean hissed, fixing a glare so piercing on Morgan that lesser men would be brought to their knees. He turned to Sam. "Let's go. NOW."

"But Dean-" Sam looked up at Morgan, who appeared more amused than anything.

"NOW, Sam." Dean reached into the booth and forcefully grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him out of the booth. He didn't let go of Sam until he was shoved into the passenger seat of the Impala, safe and sound.

"Dean, what the hell was that about? Who was that man? He said he knows Dad…" Sam bombarded Dean with questions the second he climbed behind the wheel.

"He sells medical supplies and junk to Dad for a good price and doesn't ask any questions. No fuckin' idea if he knows about what's really out there." For the first time Sam noticed how tense his brother was. His fingers were locked around the steering wheel in a death grip so tight his knuckles were white as he careened out of the parking lot probably ten times faster than was safe.

"I'm going to say this once, Sammy: don't go near him. Don't talk to him. Don't look at him. Don't go near him with a fucking ten foot pole; don't even be in the same godforsaken town as him. And most importantly, don't ever be alone with him. Ever. You understand me?"

Honestly, Dean's tone and the intensity of his gaze kind of scared Sam. But he trusted his brother implicitly and would do anything he said. Anything for Dean. "Of course. Whatever you say."

Some of the tension left Dean's shoulders. "Good. That's good. Don't ever forget that."

Dean watched Sam like a hawk the rest of the time they were in town.

"So you do remember me," Morgan smiled brightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, look, I have to meet up with my Dad right now, so…" Sam turned to leave, but only made it a few steps.

"How's your brother doing? I heard he was lain up in bed, recovering from a pretty nasty accident."

He whirled around and approached Morgan slowly, dangerously, that left no doubt what he'd been trained to do: kill. "How did you know that?"

The tall man smirked, seemingly unimpressed. "Oh Sam, how I do love that fire in your eyes. Let's just say I have eyes all over this little backwater town."

"Stay the fuck away from us. Or else."

"But I can help you, Sam. Give you any supplies you need for your ailing brother… for one low price." The hairs on the back of Sam's neck stood on end with the force of Morgan's leer.

"You know where to find me!" Morgan called gleefully after Sam's retreating form. "If you don't, your brother will die!"

THE NEXT NIGHT

Sam's stomach growled loudly, practically echoing throughout the silent room. How many days had it been since he'd eaten anything other than saltines? And those had finished yesterday. Fuck, he was feeling nauseous.

He looked up at his brother from his spot on the floor. Dean was so pale, the sick kind of pale, thinner than when he got here, and still. Alarmingly still. He hadn't so much as twitched a finger in three days. He looked like a fucking corpse.

The silence had become nearly deafening, reverberating throughout the tiny room so loud it was hard to think, so Sam had taken up talking to Dean's prone form. Or, sometimes, himself. It helped him forget how claustrophobic he felt ever since he'd watched his brother go down under the claws of the werewolf.

"Dean… I'm not gonna lie. You're not doing so hot. You need help, help that I can't give you. There's… this guy who says he can help you, but he wants me to—wants me to—but you need me to do this. If I don't, you'll… probably fucking die."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat that was suddenly threatening to choke him. On legs shakier than they should have been, he stood and made his way over Dean's side. It was odd; Dean's face was becoming blurrier and blurrier by the second. Needing to feel his brother, he ran a thumb over Dean's sunken-in cheek.

"If you don't, your brother will die!"

"I'm sorry, Dean… so sorry. I—I have to do this, you know? And it's not even what he wants me to do, it's… it's fucking disgusting, is what it is. I wanted you to be my first. See? Told you it'd make you want to vomit," Sam laughed to himself bitterly. "But, I'd take that if you woke up for me. I'd even take you yelling and punching me for just thinking about it. Dean?"

Silence.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The night was colder than he thought it would be, biting at his exposed ankles because his jeans were too short. He stuck his hands in his pockets in an attempt to warm them. He could see his breath, and watched the way it puffed out before evaporating into the darkness again and again, just for something to do until Morgan decided to show the hell up.

At 1:35 a.m. a sleek black Lexus pulled up directly in front of the alley Sam was standing in.

Sam got in without a single word.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Morgan had rented a room in the swankiest, fanciest, most expensive hotel around; about an hour away from the fleabag motel Sam and Dean were staying at. The drive there was filled with silence so profound you could probably hear a pin drop.

The smug little smirk Morgan wore never left, and it made Sam want to punch it off him. The thought comforted him, and he spent the ride to the hotel imagining the many, many things he would like to do to a man like Morgan.

Apparently the asshole must have heard Sam's stomach growling, because before heading to Morgan's room they stopped at the hotel restaurant. It was as opulent as the rest of the place, and each entrée easily boasted a price tag in the fifty dollar range.

When Sam refused to order anything, glaring at Morgan as the waiter repeatedly said "Sir? Sir?" Morgan took the liberty of ordering for him. A fucking filet mignon. His lips twitched up, giving Sam a look like he should be fucking grateful.

Sam had no idea he could sink this low. He must have discovered a whole new level of low at this point. But when the waiter set that warm, juicy, cut of meat in front of him, he literally could not resist for long. The scent wafted up his nostrils, invading his senses so that the filet mignon was all he could see, smell, taste. Sam's mouth watered and again he was reminded that he hadn't had a proper meal in days.

It made him feel sick picking up the fork for the first time. Showing how desperate he was. After a few bites he guessed it didn't matter anymore.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The door to the hotel room clicked closed. Sam stood there in the middle of the room, trying to distract himself with dissecting the extravagant décor of golds and reds. It didn't work.

"On the bed."

Every fiber of Sam's being ached to fight, to scream, to run. To not let himself be a fucking puppet for this pervert.

But that's exactly what he did.

"Take off your clothes—slowly."

The first vestiges of cold dread crept over him. He could feel his cheeks heat against his will as he pulled his hoodie over his head, then his shirt; followed by jeans. But his veins felt like ice.

He hesitated at his boxers.

"Off."

Blinking rapidly and swallowing heavily, Sam complied, pulling them down in one fell motion to get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid. His heart raced, spreading the ice faster and faster throughout his body so that he couldn't feel anything at all.

And then Morgan was naked.

On top of him.

Reaching for a bottle on the nightstand (lube, a voice in the back of his mind told him).

Slick fingers inside of him.

Too many.

Pain.

Something much, much larger, splitting him open.

It burns.

Pain.

Pain pain pain pain pain.

"Oh yeah, yeah, yeah," Morgans grunts above him. A flash of something silver and sharp.

Agony.

Red.

Agony.

Red.

Agony.

He thinks he hears screaming (from where? It couldn't possibly be himself could it?). But then he can't hear it anymore he can't breathe he can't breathe

Heavy.

So heavy.

Black.

Sam wakes up in the backseat of the Lexus. He can tell immediately by the rusty stench and the hot stickiness that he's bleeding. Badly. But not fatally, so does it really matter?

About ten minutes later the Lexus pulls to a stop. To his surprise the back door opens; they must be back at the motel? He tries to sit up but Morgan grabs him by the collar and throws him on the sidewalk. It hurts so bad he knows he's most likely crying a little.

"Here's what we agreed upon. I even gave you a cash bonus because you were such a good fuck," Morgan sneered as he threw a medium-size duffel bag at Sam's feet.

"Call me if you ever require my services again. You know where to find me… I have a feeling you won't be forgetting me anytime soon."

The squeal of tires and he was gone, but Sam could still hear his laugh.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It took Sam half an hour to muster the strength just to stand. Another fifteen minutes to make his way to their room. More time wasted. Who knew how long he'd been with Morgan. Dean could be dead for all he knew.

But when he stumbled in, keeping along the wall to stay upright, he could see the shallow rise and fall of Dean's chest and a weight fell off his shoulders. He could still make this right. He could still fix what was his fault in the first place. He could save Dean this time.

It could all be worth it.

Sam unpacked the duffel bag and raced to set up the IV. The second Dean was crammed full of antibiotics he felt his own eyelids droop. But there was one more thing he needed to take care of before he could fall into the blissful abyss of sleep. He glanced at the trail of blood he'd left from the door to Dean's bed.

He made his way to the bathroom, where he could fall apart in peace.

"Dean? …Dean? Come on, Dean?"

That was Sam's voice. It was annoying. He just wanted to sleep. But it was Sam, so he should probably listen?

"I'm up… I'm up." Dean rasped. "Why do I smell… old gym socks?"

"Because you stink."

His eyelids felt like they were weighed down with cement, but he managed to get them open. He blinked until Sam's blurry face became clear. He looked tired. Really, really tired, and really, really thin.

"Hey Sam, what-" Dean tried to sit up and agony wracked his entire body.

"DON'T try to sit up! You're hurt, okay?" Sam helped ease him back down. "Hold on, I'll get you some more pain meds."

"Where's dad?" Dean asked while Sam shuffled through an unfamiliar duffel bag.

"He's on a hunt-"

"What? Where? Who's on the hunt with him?"

"No one could-"

"You let him go on a hunt alone?" Dean snapped. "I swear, if this is about that wanting to live a normal life crap—you're fucking selfish, you know that?"

TBC... this will be three chapters long.

Thank you for reading, and you would make me the happiest person alive if you dropped a review on your way out! You'd have my eternal devotion! Who doesn't want that? XD