Ch. 2

Sorry, folks, I know it's been a long time between chapters. I'd actually planned for this chapter to be longer and get us further down the road, but I'm avoiding work I really need to be doing and bored, so I decided to post this sooner and shorter. Hope that's OK. More to come.

xxxx

Four days with little to do and no news from Bobby had Dean and Sam climbing the walls and snapping at each other almost incessantly. Sam had spent hours on the internet trying to figure out what had happened without success, and Bobby's terse "hold yer damn horses" emails had been less than encouraging. Dean had hung over Sam's shoulder as he was researching until Sam had reached back, meaning to push Dean away, and accidentally pulled his hair instead. The escalation of hair pulling into nail gouging and screaming had been incredibly disturbing, and they hadn't spoken for almost 12 hours after that, both mortified and terrified it might happen again if they weren't careful.

Dean's peace offering of a late-night trip to the convenience store had resulted in an uneasy truce upon his return with Slim Jims, Cokes and chocolate. They'd eaten themselves into sugar comas and passed out.

They'd managed to avoid any more altercations, but they were still bored out of their skulls and anxious with the waiting.

The knock on the door made Dean's heart start uncomfortably into his throat, eyes darting to Sam who was surfing the internet, "working," while Dean watched TV.

"Bobby?" he mouthed at his brother, who shook his head uneasily.

"I don't see how," Sam whispered back.

Dean slid off the bed, picking up the handgun on the bedside table as he went to the door. He had to give himself a second to adjust to the weight in his smaller hand, but he'd been prepared for that, making a slight change in his grip as he glanced over at Sam. His brother had taken up the knife on the table next to him and moved quickly across the room to the window. Opening the curtains almost imperceptibly to peer through, Sam shook his head at his brother as Dean raised up slightly on tiptoe to squint through the peephole.

"Manager," Dean said softly, brow furrowing uncertainly as he stepped back. Answer the door or not, that was the question.

The question was answered for him with the sound of a key entering the lock.

"C- Crap!" he stammered hoarsely, startling toward Sam, gun coming up automatically.

"Dean, no!" Sam hissed urgently. "We can't…" He thrust his own weapon quickly out of sight between the mattresses of the bed next to him, but still in reach. "If they find us with a gun…" he went on hurriedly.

"Crap," Dean said again. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants, felt the unfamiliar size of it against the small of his back tugging his jeans down in a way it didn't when he was grown. Damn it.

He'd just bumped into Sam when the door swung open.

The manager hesitated in the doorway, eyes sweeping the room, settling on Dean and Sam to his left.

"What do you want?" Dean decided that the best defense was a good offense. "You can't just come in here. We're paid up. You can't…."

"Are you girls alright?" the man interrupted. His gaze strayed to the closed bathroom door across the room.

That hadn't really been what Dean had expected. "Y- yeah," he answered. He felt Sam shift behind him, moving slightly to the side and forward. Dean glanced over at his brother. "We're fine."

"Where are the men who checked in here?" the manager asked.

"They… they're getting groceries," Dean said.

"The car's been gone for days," the man said.

Dean cleared his throat. He took a breath. "You just haven't seen it. They've been here."

The guy didn't respond for a minute, eyes shifting between the "girls" and the bathroom door. Finally, he asked quietly, "Are they in there?" The hand that had been steady at his hip, reached behind him, and Dean realized he had a gun tucked into the waistband of his own jeans. Wonderful.

Carefully, Dean shook his head. "No sir," he answered steadily. "There's no one…"

But the manager wasn't listening, checking first behind the door next to him before moving cautiously toward the bathroom. He glanced between the beds as he approached the closed door and pushed it open. When he didn't encounter any resistance, he stepped in quickly, pushing the shower curtain aside. Finding no one, he turned back to Dean and Sam.

"How did you get here?" he demanded softly. "You weren't with those guys when they got here."

"We were," Dean started, "we…."

"You weren't," the manager stated flatly. "I watched them go into their room, and it was just the two of them."

"We…"

"Then the car was gone, and you were here."

Sam was annoyingly quiet beside him, and Dean spared him a look before trying again. Sam didn't even look at him.

"We were with them," Dean insisted again. "And they're coming back. They're just…"

But the guy was shaking his head. "I don't care where they are. And I'm not an idiot. They haven't been back for days, and this is no place for two little girls on their own. I'm calling the police."

xxxx

The cops had come and then called in child protective services. Dean stood in the middle of the room, doing the best he could to stare down the social workers and the rookie officer who'd been left behind to keep things running smoothly.

"The manager said it was two men who checked into this room. And that they didn't have any kids with them," one of the social workers said gently. "You said these men didn't take you, that they are your brothers. Have they hurt you?" Her eyes strayed to the fading bruise on Dean's face, slipped down to Sam's, narrowing at the scrape of red along his jaw.

"We told you they didn't hurt us. And they didn't take us," Dean said, trying for calm. "We were just asleep in the back of the car when we got here. That's why the guy didn't see us. We… They let us sleep. We just we came into the room later."

The three government officials exchanged doubtful glances. "These guys were grown men according to Mr. Lee. Much older than the two of you."

"They're our half-brothers," Dean amended smoothly. He shrugged. "Dad. You know."

"Where's your father?"

Dean bit his lip. "He's dead. Our brothers… Our brothers take care of us now."

"Your mom?"

"She died when we were little."

"Where are your brothers now?"

"They went out," Dean said shortly. He hated telling this over and over.

"Mr. Lee said they left a few days ago. That he hasn't seen them or the car."

"They've been here. Mr. Lee…"

"They're coming back," Sam interjected. He'd gone quiet the minute it was clear what kind of trouble they were in, sliding seamlessly into the expected role for a younger sibling when danger threatened, letting his big "sister" take the lead.

Dean was surprised by the feel of Sam's hand gripping the t-shirt at his side, small fingers twisting into the fabric. "They wouldn't leave us," Sam said. "They're coming back." Anxious tone to match the hold he had on his brother.

"I'm sure they will, sweetie," the younger of the social workers soothed. "But until then…" She reached out a hand to put on Sam's arm, and Dean stepped decisively between them. Old habits. Sam in his turn jerked back, moving behind Dean. Habit as strong in him as it was in his brother.

"We can wait for them here," Dean tried, desperation tinting his voice even as he tried to hide it. Panic setting in, this forgotten, but familiar sensation of having lost control making his heart start to trip uncomfortably in his chest.

"H- They're coming back. They wouldn't…" It had been all Dean could do not to say "he." He's coming back. He wouldn't leave us. The two times they'd faced this same thing – once when they'd been much younger, once when they'd been about these same ages – slamming back into him, stealing his breath and his focus.

Fear. Anger and helplessness. Shame.

"We can't leave you two by yourselves." The cop said it kindly, but firmly. "I'm sorry, honey. But you can't wait for them here."

xxxx

They were processed efficiently and clinically at the emergency children's shelter. The facility was short on beds – of course – and the merest suggestion that they might not be in the same room had caused Sam, calmly and composedly, to begin to leak copious amounts of tears and attach himself to Dean like a leech. Recovering quickly from the start of surprise at Sam's reaction, Dean pulled his brother tightly against him and took a step away, out of reach of the shelter worker who seemed to be in charge of the younger children.

"Please," Dean started, blinking back the sting that had started behind his own eyes. And damned if he wasn't sure whether he was acting or not. God, he hated these freaking body-swap curses when he got left with his own mind, but at the mercy of whatever hormones and emotions were infecting the body he'd been given.

"Dee, please can we call Aunt Jo and Uncle Luke now." Pressed as he was against Dean's chest, Sam turned his face to the side, laying his cheek against Dean's sternum. "Please," he whispered.

Dean blinked. Wha…?

"What?" one of the staffers asked. "Who?"

Sam pulled back enough to scrub at his eyes and turn a watery gaze on his victim. "Our Aunt Jo. She said we could live with her after… after Daddy died, but the boys wanted…" he trailed off, wiping his arm across his nose.

Dean watched in a certain amount of awe. Sam was really a pretty pathetic liar when he was expected to work off the cuff. But give him a script. Let him plan… and damn. That brain of his had clearly been working overtime while he'd been quiet.

"Sammy," Dean sighed. Reluctance would be expected since they hadn't suggested an alternative to the shelter earlier.

"I know… I know you don't like them, but…" Sam tilted his face up to Dean. "Please. I don't want to… to stay here." He ended on a hiccup.

"Why don't you like them, Dee?" from one of the original social workers. Checking for legitimate reasons why Jo and Luke shouldn't be called.

Dean looked down and away, letting a petulant frown settle over his mouth. "They're too strict. We have to go to church all the time. And the stupid boys."

"I like them," Sam sniffed.

Dean frowned at him. "You would," he said disdainfully.

"Boys?" The shelter worker asked, confused.

"Our cousins." He put as much of what he thought of as teenage-girl disgust into his voice as he could manage.

There was a long silence.

"Dee, honey, don't you think it might be better with your family than here? I know they might not be your first choice. But we can't guarantee you girls will stay together if you have to go into foster care. Or even if you just stay here for awhile to wait on your brothers."

Dean scowled at his toes. Shrugged. He slid a glance at Sam, who was biting his lip, watching the adults as Dean played out his own part. "Fine," he mumbled. He paused for a second. "Can I talk to them first?"

"Of course you can," the woman said kindly. "Do you know their number?"

Dean nodded and he was led to the phone in one of the cramped offices. He frowned uncertainly at the phone. He had the damned number programmed into his cell. Fortunately, Sam had refused to be left behind, so he punched the number in when he realized Dean couldn't remember.

"Thanks," Dean sighed when the line began to ring.

There was no privacy, and Dean was thinking frantically as he waited. Jo answered on the third ring.

"Hello?" she answered. Dean swallowed hard.

"Uh, Aunt Jo?" he asked.

She paused. "Tommy?" she asked, uncertain.

"No. No. It's, uh. It's Dee." He couldn't stop the grimace at the stupid name. Silence as she processed that. Come on, Jo. Come on.

"D- Dean?" she tried tentatively.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Honey, wh- " she started.

"We're kind of in trouble," he rushed in, "could you, could you come get us?"

"Trouble?" she asked, concern in her voice. "What kind of trouble? Are you hurt?"

"No. We're not hurt. We just… the boys didn't come back and…"

"The boys…" she repeated, bewildered.

"Yeah," he said, putting a certain amount of impatience into his voice as he caught Sam's eyes. "They went out for a beer and they never…."

"The boys went out for a beer…" Dean wondered if she was going to repeat everything he said. She trailed off.

"Please, Aunt Jo," Dean tried to prompt her, desperation starting to take hold.

Then, carefully, "You need Uncle Luke and me to come get you?"

Dean didn't let his shoulders sag in relief as much as he wanted to. But he swallowed. Hard. "Yeah," he managed, trying to maintain petulant. "CPS…"

"CPS?" Jo asked sharply. "What? A- Are you kids again?"

Dean looked at the two shelter workers standing nearby, but they didn't seem to have overheard the question.

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "Can you come or what?" he demanded. "They boys'll come back, they just won't let us…"

He wondered if she understood. That he was playing a role, that he wasn't…

"We'll come," she said firmly. "Where are you? Is there anyone I need to talk to?"

Without replying Dean handed the phone to the woman next to him.

"Mrs. Winchester? Oh. Of course. Mrs. Sweed…"

Dean listened closely as the woman talked, telling Jo the situation her "nieces" were in and giving directions for where they could be picked up the next day.

"Your aunt would like to talk to you again."

Dean took the phone. "Yeah?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

"You're girls?" Jo finally managed, voice strained.

"Yeah," Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

"How old?" She sounded suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh.

Dean slanted a glance at the shelter staff and then at Sam.

"They said a 15-year-old couldn't take care of a 10-year-old all by him- herself," he bit out.

"Fifteen?" A wavering tone quickly suppressed. "And ten?" The warble started to break free.

"Jo," Dean said warningly, "don't…."

But it was too late, and a gale of giggles carried clearly over the phone.

On a growl, Dean slammed the receiver down. He glared at Sam. "They'll be here tomorrow," he snarled.

xxxx