A/N: Thank you so much for the fav and follows. Special thanks to missingmikey, PriyaWinchester, moira4ek, IcyFoxWest for your reviews! Moira47ek: Dean was freaked out, hence his first impatient reaction to Sam. Although this is an AU, the essential Dean is still there. He's retained his compassion and will show it for Sam especially. The fire and the aftermath is a major part of his journey, so that part of the story will develop over time. Sam's mental and physical handicaps are due to the fire, and Dean won't know who Sam is just yet as he's busy trying to survive the events of this chapter!

Chapter Two

Bobby instinctively spun to his left as the kid pulled the trigger on his Smith & Wesson pistol. The bullet missed him by a fraction of an inch, and he could feel its velocity as it whipped past him. Pumped with adrenaline, he kicked at Dean's hand, and the gun went flying into tall grass.

Dean cried out and held his hand as he rocked back and forth. "You broke it!"

"What the hell are you doin'?!" Bobby yelled as he advanced toward the kid.

Dean kicked the heels of his motorcycle boots against the dirt, trying to establish some distance.

Bobby grabbed him under one arm and yanked him up. Dean tried to pull away, but Bobby had him in an iron grip. He couldn't believe he'd almost been killed by this brat. John had said he'd trained his son to be a hunter, and he surely wasn't lying about that. Only he was supposed to kill monsters, not people.

"Why are you so twitchy, ya scaredy-cat?!" Bobby spat out. "And where did you get that gun? Oh yeah. Your daddy, the felon. Chip off the old block are ya."

Dean's face was now a sweaty, whiter shade of pale. He didn't reply but kept turning his head around, looking, evaluating.

"I ain't no monster," Bobby said. "I'm a human being, and a nice one at that. Let's go inside and talk, man to man." He loosened his grip on Dean slightly, and the kid yanked hard and sprinted away, making like a bat out of hell for the fenced pasture.

Bobby watched Dean leap over the fence, heading for Maybelle, the old painted pony they kept as a pet. Bobby stomped his foot. "Balls!"

:::

Dean had a hard time climbing onto the pony. He kept slipping off as she tried to step away from him. He finally pushed one foot off the fence and flung himself on top of her. He dug his heels into her, and she screamed in protest, taking off and heading for the stand of trees in the distance.

Dean used his good hand to hold on tightly to the pony's mane, but she jiggled her enormous butt, attempting to knock him off her back. This was the first time he'd ridden a horse, and his only reference was the old Lone Ranger movies he'd watched on motel TVs. Too bad he hadn't paid more attention to Tonto's riding technique. He slipped to one side of the pony, then the other, wishing he had a saddle but unsure if that'd do any good since he was sweating like a freak.

The pony stopped abruptly, and Dean went flying over her head, landing solidly on the ground. She galloped away, and Dean laid there, feeling like every bone and muscle in his body was shouting in pain. He raised his head and saw the old guy climbing the fence and whistling for the pony. Dammit!

Dean pushed to his feet and then took off running for the trees. They seemed to shimmer and wave in his vision. He ran as fast as he could, tripping when his stomach suddenly twisted. He threw up all of the bile in his stomach. Not much was in there. He hadn't eaten or drunk much since yesterday morning. He could hear the pony's clodding gait behind him and took off again.

Dean felt the shade of trees envelop him, yet the air was so muggy it was like breathing underwater. He coughed repeatedly, having a hard time catching his breath. The interior of the woods was thick with vines, and he wished for a machete. His little knife hidden in his sock wasn't going to help him.

He had to keep going on, find the main road, hitch a ride and get back to John. Dean placed one foot in front of the other, but he kept stumbling around, unable to walk steadily. He needed to hide so he could rest awhile, maybe wait until dark to avoid the old hillbilly. He ran into a tree face first and decided he'd use the last of his energy to climb up high.

Dean snatched at the bark with his nails, ignoring the fierce pain in his hand and trying to find purchase on the mossy tree. He climbed one branch and then another, refusing to stop until he was about ten feet high. He hid behind the trunk and forced himself to stop breathing as the old guy entered the woods. He'd never been so dizzy in his life; his head wouldn't stop spinning, and black spots littered his vision. His fingers slipped from the bark, but he caught himself in time.

"DEAN!"

It was the old guy, stopping next to the tree he was hiding in. All of Dean's muscles tensed. Maybe he should leap out of the tree on top of the guy and duke it out.

"Dean. You're not in trouble. Everything's fine. Let's go back to the house. I don't want to leave my boy there by himself. You hear me?" The guy paused, looking around. "Dean! Come on now."

Dean heard a roaring sound in his ears, and his head dropped forward. His arms and legs started shaking uncontrollably, and he felt air rushing his face as he slipped from the tree limb.

:::

Bobby was stunned when he looked up and saw the Winchester kid falling headfirst from a tree. Dean soundlessly fell to the ground straight onto his stomach, his right arm cushioning his fall.

Bobby's heart pounded. "Holy mother of..." He knelt and patted the kid's cheek. Dean made a guttural sound of pain, and his eyelashes fluttered, but he soon lost consciousness. Bobby took his pulse, which was racing, and felt around Dean's neck and spine. No bones seemed out of place. He carefully rolled Dean over, and let out a tense breath at the sight of his arm. It was badly broken, and the kid would have a terrible shiner, not to mention a monstrous headache from the blow to his head, highlighted by the mass of blood flowing from his temple.

Bobby scooped him in his arms, surprised at how heavy he was. A chip off the old block. John was muscular, too. He hoped the kid would be out while he carried him back to the house because this really had to hurt something awful. He cradled Dean's head and neck to avoid jarring him any further.

Bobby didn't like the way Dean felt as hot as a furnace. Dammit. Heat exhaustion...or heat stroke. It was a typical delta Arkansas summer day, over one hundred degrees and high humidity. Dean might not be used to this climate. Bobby upped his pace as he gritted his teeth against the boy's weight. Poor Maybelle was in the middle of the pasture, avoiding all humans. He whistled for her, but she ignored him.

Dean frowned and squirmed. His lips worked, trying but failing to form a word. He gave a massive shudder and became dead weight.

Finally, Bobby gently laid Dean on the porch and raced for the garden hose on the side of the house. He sprayed the kid with cold water and frowned when the boy didn't protest. He managed to get Dean into the air conditioned house and laid him dripping on the kitchen floor. He ripped the tablecloth off the table and balled it up to elevate Dean's legs.

His son wheeled his chair right up to Dean. "Daddy? What's wrong with him? He's all wet."

Bobby stroked his son's hair. "Sam, he had an accident. Fell out of a tree. Would you get me some frozen vegetables from the bottom freezer? As many as you can find. I need to make a phone call."

Bobby paced as he dialed 911. "I need an ambulance! A boy fell out of a tree and broke some bones. He might also have heat stroke. He's unconscious. Send someone quick! It's the Singer farm off route 33. No, it's not Sam. It's...a visitor. A fourteen year old boy. Hurry!" He hung up the phone and watched Sam piling frozen vegetables into a pyramid on top of Dean's torso. "Here," Bobby said. "Let's place these a little differently." Bobby stuffed vegetables under Dean's arms, around his neck and groin.

"Sam, he's going to the hospital. I'll have to drop you off at Mrs. Henderson's. Okay?"

Sam frowned and crossed his arms. "No. Going with you."

Bobby squatted and looked directly into Sam's eyes. "Son, this is serious. I don't know how long we'll be there. I don't want you to get bored or upset."

Sam pointed at Dean. "He's cold. See?"

Bobby's heart sank when he saw Dean seizing on the floor. He rolled him onto his left side. "Don't touch him, Sam. I'm going to get a thermometer."

"He stopped," Sam said when Bobby returned. "Looks dead. Like that possum on the deck."

Bobby read the thermometer after it beeped and cursed under his breath. "One hundred and five. Kid, you're giving me a heart attack. Where the hell is that ambulance?!"

:::

"Boy's name?" Sam asked as Bobby buckled him into the mini-van. They had to hurry to meet the ambulance at the county hospital.

"Dean."

"Like that cooker lady? On TV?"

Bobby chuckled. "Paula Deen?" Leave it to Sam to lighten the mood.

"She his mama?"

"Nah. He don't look nothing like her."

Sam nodded. "She fluffy. Mommy says that's nice for fat. Fluffy."

Bobby grunted a response. "A stick 'o butter a day will do it to ya, kid."

Sam's mouth opened and closed. He frowned as he played with the seat belt's shoulder harness. "I...I dunno."

Bobby glanced at him. He had such an easy rapport with his son, but sometimes he forgot Sam couldn't process certain concepts. Sarcastic humor was difficult for him to understand.

"Why are you so interested in Dean?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "Dream. He was in my dream."

"What did he do in your dream?"

"He smiled. And laughed. And...and...he called me Sammy. I don't like it. Not my name."

Bobby felt a chill run over him. This was entirely strange. Sam never told him about this dream. What in the world was going on?