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P.S- I do not have a fish =O

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did I would have a heart attack and die…..


They stopped for the night around three in the morning, both Dean and the kid still passed out in the Impala. After getting a room at the shabby mote, John shook Dean awake, rather roughly urging him to consciousness. Dean mumbled incoherently, lightly swatting the hand away from his shoulder.

"Dean, wake up" John said urgently. An alarm seemed to go off in Dean's brain, set to go off whenever John spoke, bringing him back to the Impala he was currently sitting in. He looked around, still slightly disoriented. His eyes found the kid in the backseat, the past events flashing in his mind as he sat mesmerized at the kid. The injuries were no better and, if anything, they seemed worse.

Dean got out of the Impala, shutting the door behind him. He got into the backseat, slowly bringing the kid into his arms. He hugged him tightly to his chest, being careful for all his wounds. The kid seemed to inwardly cringe, though he didn't actually seem aware of the stiff withdrawal in his muscles.

Dean looked around, and found that John had already opened the door to their motel room, which was conveniently located on the external part of the worn down building.

Dean, towing the kid in his arms, brought him over to their room, then set him down on the bed lightly. He turned around to get the first-aid kit when his dad appeared in front of him, kit in hand. Dean smiled briefly, grabbed it out of his hands, and then got to work.

Dean looked at the kid's burned hand warily. He would be scarred forever, whatever the cause may be. He moved around the hand, fixing up all his other injuries; he applied apple cider vinegar to most of the bruises, but was left with just putting ice packs on the really big ones. He situated ointment on all the kid's scratches, and by God, he had a lot of them. He was an average kid, save for the burned hand, bruises, and physical years of abuse.

Dean watched as the kid's hand moved, his fingers bending as if grasping for something. It was a small movement, yet it sent shivers down Dean's back. He would finally be able to get some inside information on this kid so he could take him back to his parents. Where he belonged Dean thought dreadfully. He had to fight the urge to just keep the kid forever, keeping him clasped in his arms till the days darkened into oblivion. He didn't even know why, the kid just seemed so affable. He had always wanted a brother to look out for, and now the only chance he had was going to be ruined.

He motioned to his father, who had been cleaning guns while Dean worked on him, ushering him over. John sauntered forward, intrigued when the kid's movement level increased. They watched as he tried to open his eyes, the light too blinding for him to see properly.

Dean immediately went over to turn the lights off. He walked back, in front of the bed, and rested his hand on his shoulder.

The kid flipped out, hastily getting away from the touch as if he had been trying to dodge a bullet. He nearly ran off the bed, but Dean caught him before he got any further.

"Shh…it's okay, we're not going to hurt you. You're safe now." Dean held onto the kid, his arms clasped around the kid's tiny waist. He felt the warmth radiating from the kid, and immediately knew he couldn't let anything happen to him now that he was in his grasp. He continued to struggle, pushing his body as far away from Dean's as he could. It was no use, however, and Dean could feel the kid's means to escape gradually deflating. He sensed a type of recognition in the kid, a possible knowing of what was to come. Dean instantly pulled away, just close enough to be able to snatch him if he made a move for the door.

The kid stayed still and tense, his back facing the two Winchesters. His head hung low, successfully covering his eyes with his hair. Dean frowned, having never gotten a good look at his eyes yet.

It's all right. You're safe now" Dean says again, slowly easing toward the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder. The kid visibly recoiled, the muscle under Dean's hand shaking convulsively. Dean removed his hand. The kid seemed grateful

The kid turned around to see two very perplexed Winchesters. He looked up at Dean, watching him with pleading eyes. Dean stared into the kid's deep blue eyes, seeing the world-weary pain the kid could no longer hide.

Maybe it had been several years of torture.

Dean offered a small smile, though he was positive it appeared more as a grimace.

"What's your name, little guy?"

The kid looked up at him, his demeanor seeming to falter. After years of torture and abuse, he could definitely tell the difference between the good guys and the others you would call absolute-fucking bastards.. The kid's perception was off the roof. He looked intensely at Dean's face for a long moment, almost forever, reading every square-inch of his expression. He must have liked what he saw, for his expression seemed to lighten, no matter how small the difference. The distrust in his eyes he felt toward the Winchesters was unmistakable, but it was a start.

"S…Sam."

Dean smiled, suddenly wondering when the kid had found a way past all his defenses, making his way into Dean's heart. How long had it been since he saw the kid on the road? A few hours, and just now he was beginning to talk.

The kid did not return the smile, and he did not expect one.

"That's a cool name. My name's Dean." He stopped momentarily, then pointed to the man behind him. "And this is my father, John."

Sam nodded apathetically. "I know who you are" he seemed to mumble, clearly not meeting there eyes.

Dean questioned him, but the kid just kept looking over the newly placed bandages all over his body, inspecting them, as if making sure they were done correctly. Dean watched as the kid's face seemed to be one of horror. Sam gasped, looking down at his body in what seemed to be shame, maybe even embarrassment.

Dean stared at him incredibly as Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes watering just enough to be visible to the human eye.

Sam slowly backed away, murmuring muffled words to himself as he backed into the wall. Dean's heart seemed to be torn out of his chest as he watched the kid slide down the wall, pulling his legs to his chest. Sam's tears were free-flowing now, which only seemed to hurt Dean all the more.

Dean thought to say something encouraging when he saw Sam also trying to say something.

"Where…where are my clothes?"

Dean stared at Sam, gaping at why he could possibly be crying about wearing only boxers. In front of guys! Dean had heard the screaming in his head that there was something more to the story, but he delved no further. He went over to Sam's pile of clothes, picked them up, and handed them to Sam.

Sam took them avariciously. He slid the worn out and torn short over his head, letting it fall into place over his bruised torso. He stood up, making sure not to accidentally run into the older man.

Before putting on his pants, he looked at his left, now distorted hand. Dean watched as Sam's demeanor seemed to lessen, a deep frown now on his features. Putting two and two together, he walked up to Sam slowly, making sure not to frighten him. In itself, the thought seemed preposterous, not only because Sam was on the alert, but also because he was so damn perceptive. Dean would watch his eyes dart at the slightest movement, sending Dean into a vortex of guilt. Whatever the fuck happened to this kid, Dean vowed to make it right.

Dean watched as Sam eyed him. He was obviously very reluctant about the situation, but, in Dean's eyes, he was a little too reluctant. He watched the fire blaze in Sam's eyes, the way he gazed at Dean with the eyes of a hawk, ready to jump at the slightest sense of betrayal. Dean offered a hopefully convincing smile, holding a hand out to take Sam's pants. Sam seemed to sigh, handing Dean the pants with his right hand.

Dean helped him into his pants, which wasn't that hard because the pants were so big on him. After buttoning up the jeans, he moved his hands to the zipper. Sam whimpered, stopping Dean entirely. He moved his hands away, and turned his eyes to Sam's. There is no longer just fear in them. He didn't know how he could describe it. It seemed as though the kid had given up, willing to hand himself to the Devil if need be.

Dean felt a hot pain surge through him as he suddenly took Sam into his arms. It was a one-sided hug, Sam making no move to do anything. He never backed away, yet never took him in. He had an heir of indifference for nearly everything, as if the kid had given up on life. Dean let him go reluctantly, instantly missing the warmth the kid seemed to radiate. He zipped up his pants, and then moved to put his hands on Sam's shoulders.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, okay?"

Sam stayed silent, his eyes dull and lifeless. Dean absent-mindedly wondered what they looked like before Sam was taken away from his parents.

------O------

Dean watched as the kid lay on the bed, sleeping peacefully. He looked so innocent when he slept, almost making Dean feel jealous. At a young age, Dean had never really considered himself innocent. At eleven, he learned how to shoot with any type of gun. A year later, he could shoot just about anything. His past had never allowed him much leeway, which led him to growing up faster, never having the youthful look Sam now wore.

His thoughts drifted to Sam. Did he have a loving family? A tragic one past? Who had beat him up beyond full repair, physically and emotionally. Rage surged through him as questions continued to pop into his head, each one asking of Sam's well-being. He sat at the small table with John, located near Sam's bed, subconsciously nibbling on his burger. It seemed to taste sour, which was just how he felt. He set it down, losing the will to finish the last few bites.

John watched him curiously as he walked over to the bed beside the one Sam is currently occupying. They had shared the bed, leaving John with the bed nearest to the door. It had always been preferred for John, and was done no other way.

"Dad, what are we going to do?"

John finished the rest of his burger, stuffing the last of it in his mouth. After a few chews, he swallowed it. "To tell you the truth, son, right now I have no idea. Once the hunt is over we can take him home."

Dean immediately stood, taking long strides around the room. He rubbed a hand over his face, pulling downward on his features before putting them back in place.

"What if he's been so far from home he doesn't remember where it is? What then?"

"I don't know. Let's just play it by ear. We will get the kid back to his family."

Unknown to the two Winchesters, Sam laid still, alert, as he listened to their ranting.

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