Title: On The Turning Away

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Dean would do anything to keep his little brother safe and healthy. He would provide for him, no matter what the cost. They didn't need their father. Not today, not ever. AU, what if they'd had Max's childhood?

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating: T

A/N: Okay, I know my last chapter left off in kind of a weird place, so I wanted to get this out soon, so no one looses interest. I know it took kind of an odd turn that some may not like, but I'm trying to tell of story of brotherly love. Found in a certain situation, the boys would do anything for each other. That's what I'm trying to get across. That brotherly love. I think that's what all the stories about them try to get across. That's why we love them so much. At least, that's why I do.

This chapter is long, but it explains everything. Please drop me a line and let me know how you think I'm doing with this. I'd greatly appreciate it. Seriously, I really would:)

Chapter Four: Light is changing to shadow

Two Weeks Earlier

Dean had just managed to close his eyes a few moments ago. His extreme exhaustion carried him quickly to that half asleep, half awake place that was always so very peaceful. He was bordering on the edge of consciousness, waiting for sleep to consume him entirely, when a harsh and pain filled moan brought him back to the reality of his bedroom.

"Sammy..." he called out lightly, rolling over to get a better look at his brother's bed. He could barely make out the younger boy's form. It was curled so tightly around itself, making him appear no bigger than a pillow.

He coughed and rolled over, dangerously close to the edge of the bed. Dean pulled himself into a sitting position, his heavy limbs protesting every move, and being affectively ignored by the person to whom they were attached.

"Sam..."

"I think I'm gonna be sick again." The younger boy cut him off, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth, did he dart out of the bed and stumble his way to the bathroom. Reaching the toilet, apparently, just in time to effectively empty the contents of his stomach for the fourth time that night. And yes, Dean was keeping a running count.

The vomiting was actually probably just a side affect of the intense migraine Sam had. That and the stomach cramps probably all stemmed from the fever he'd had for the last two days. The one that had been getting steadily worse for the last two days.

Dean made his way to the bathroom after his baby brother on unsteady feet. Two days Sam had been sick. Two days that Dean had been staying up with him all night, sitting next to him on the bed, rubbing his back and adjusting the damp washcloth on his head. Praying for his brother to recover quickly.

Dean knocked on the frame of the door, as Sam hadn't bothered to shut the door.

"Hey you," he called lightly, attempting casual. Sam's head was resting on the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. "You okay in there?"

"I feel bad," the younger boy moaned, effectively breaking Dean's heart, and reminding him frighteningly of the scared little kid that Sammy used to be.

His little brother had grown so much since their father had more or less left him in Dean's care. The elder brother liked to think that he was at least partially responsible for Sam's changed attitude, but the truth is, he would never know for sure. All he could do was continue to take care of him as best he could.

And right now, it was killing him that he could do nothing to take away his little brother's pain. It reminded him of the times his father hurt him. How scared he sounded right now, it was the same tone he always had on those occasions when he was forced to face their father.

Dean swallowed his own feelings of helplessness and moved closer to the younger boy, crouching down next to him on the floor.

"Does your head still hurt?" He asked, hoping that the migraine would have receded at least somewhat.

Sam just nodded, and swallowed thickly. "Can you..." he trailed off, closing his eyes painfully.

"What Sammy, what do you need?" Dean had been doing his best to care for his little brother, but Sammy very rarely asked for anything. And he would only tell Dean what was wrong if he asked. More often than not, he'd actually have to plead with the younger boy to get him to admit anything was wrong at all.

"The light makes my head hurt more." He said, and that was all it took for Dean to dart up and shut off the offending glare with one flick of his wrist.

The room was completely dark, save the moonlight filtering in through the window, when Dean returned to his side.

The teen adjusted himself so that he was sitting with his back against the sink, before he pulled Sammy to him gently.

"You're shaking," he noted out loud, once Sam was curled up against his side.

His felt his brother's hands tighten their grip on the front of his t-shirt and could almost feel him clench his teeth in an effort to reduce the shivering.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's not your fault." Dean told him sternly. He wanted to hold Sammy out in front of him and force him to meet his eyes. To make him understand that he was not mad. But he knew moving him would be a bad idea, and probably cause him more pain, so he settled on simply repeating, "It is not your fault. I'm not mad at you. You're gonna be okay."

He felt Sammy nod, but had no idea if he believed the words. At the moment though, it was all he had to offer

"Can I have another aspirin?" The child asked desperately and Dean bit his lip to keep it from quivering.

"No, I...I...you had one earlier and it's dangerous for you to have more than that." He hated logic sometimes.

"But it hurts," he moaned.

"I know," he said sadly into Sam's hair. "I know."

Dean felt Sam's tears soak into his thin cotton t-shirt and pulled his brother closer to him. He closed his own eyes and let his head fall back against the sink. He rubbed circles on his back as he always did when Sam was upset, but was not surprised when they did nothing to ease his hurting.

He hated this. He hated being helpless to stop his brother's pain. At least when it was their father, Dean had the option of distracting the older man. To turn the attention away from Sammy. To protect him. And when he failed to do that, there were actual wounds to be tended to. Something physical that he could mend and care for.

Whatever had Sam so sick right now, and he hoped to God it was nothing serious like he sucpected it might be, he could do nothing for. They had no medicine, save the pain killers that Dean wasn't even allowed to give him. After spending all their money from the month before on essential items like food and Sam's new school things, they had almost nothing left over. Certainly not enough for medicine.

Dean had gone to the drugstore the first day Sammy had been sick, hoping beyond hope that he'd be able to find something to help his little brother. He'd found out that, not only was the children's Tylenol extremely expensive, it was kept in a locked glass cabinet behind the counter, so he couldn't even steal it.

In actuality, it wasn't that expensive, but with all the money they didn't have, it sure as hell felt like it. One again, he cursed the law that said he had to be sixteen to get any kind of job. It was a stupid law. Dean was more mature and more responsible than most sixteen year olds, he knew this, and he wasn't being arrogant in his evaluation of himself. It was just a fact. He'd grown up fast.

Sam's mumblings pulled him out of depressing, angry thoughts and quickly brought his attention back to his baby brother.

"What?" Dean asked, not making out Sam's garbled speech.

"I wanna go back to bed," he repeated more clearly. "I'm cold."

Dean ignored the panic that that statement filled him with. Maybe it was just his imagination, maybe it wasn't really bordering on eighty degrees in the tiny bathroom. No need to worry about it, right?

"Sure, buddy." Dean said easily, making a move to stand, holding Sammy close to him. He rose to his feet slowly, supporting most of Sam's weight as he went along, the younger boy was leaning against him heavily. "Just hold on, alright?"

Sam didn't respond, but Dean hadn't expected him to, they made their way slowly to Sam's bed, collapsing onto it once they got there. Sam didn't ask, but Dean didn't hesitate in crawling into bed next to him. Sam curled up against him, much the same way he had been moments before in the bathroom. Dean reached over and pulled up the comforter, tucking it around him until it resembled a cocoon.

After a few moments of settling in, Sam's head was resting comfortably on Dean's chest. The elder brother felt Sam start to breath along with him and immediately started to take deeper breaths. He wasn't sure if Sammy was doing it on purpose or not, he wasn't even sure of how coherent the younger boy was at the moment, but he was glad for it.

It took roughly another half an hour of even breathing to get Sam to finally fall into a restless sleep. Only when Dean was sure he was asleep, did he shut his own eyes again. Sleep found him almost immediately. But the knowledge of Sam's pain ensured that he rested no easier than his little brother did that night.

The decision for Dean to go to school the next morning was one made based completely on fear, and nothing else. As it was, it wasn't even Dean's fear that was the driving factor.

"You have to go to school," Sam argued, sitting on Dean's bed the next morning. He looked better than he had in a couple days, but that wasn't saying all that much.

"No." Dean stated flatly, and continued his task of changing the sheets on Sam's bed.

"The school's gonna notice," he pointed out.

"I don't care." He stated stubbornly. There was no way he was leaving his sick brother home alone. No way.

"I'm fine," Sam kept pushing the issue. "I'll probably sleep all day."

"You know as well as I do that that's not true." Dean said evenly, trying to keep his annoyance in check. Neither boy had slept soundly in days.

"Fine," Sam agreed. "But what good is you being here doing? I'm still sick."

The words jabbed at Dean's already guilty conscious, and had to remind himself that Sam wasn't trying to point out the fact that Dean was failing.

"Well, you're obviously feel better today," he bit out. This was the most Sammy had said in a long while. And while it eased a bit of Dean's worry, he had to take into account the fact that Sam's voice was still weak and raspy. Not to mention his almost alarming paleness, and Dean didn't miss the thin layer of sweat that had broken out across his forehead. "But I'm still not going to school."

Sam's next words were spoken quietly but they made Dean freeze. "What if they call dad?"

He swallowed thickly and tried to keep his own panic at bay. "They don't know how to get a hold of him." He argued rationally, his voice much quieter an less forceful than it had been just a moment before.

"You don't know that," Sam said, just as softly. "He could have talked to the school last time he was in town."

Dean seriously doubted that, but Sammy sounded as scared as he had last night, and Dean hated hearing that. "Nobody's gonna call dad." He said firmly.

"Well, what if they get suspicious and come here and ask to talk to him." Sam was now bordering on frantic and Dean couldn't help but remember the social worker from years before. "What if he comes home, Dean? What if somebody takes us away..."

"Calm down." Dean ordered gently. "I promise you, that's not going to happen."

Sam wouldn't meet his eyes and Dean sighed. "If I go to school, will you relax?"

"Yes," Sam nodded.

"You know, I could just call myself off, like I did for you." He said, already knowing it was a pointless argument.

"My school already thinks you're dad," and it was true that Dean had spoken with Sam's principal over the phone enough times for the woman to honestly believe that his fake deep voice was actually the one of John Winchester. It was just another one of those things he was good at when it came to taking care of his brother. "The high school might not."

Honestly, Dean had no idea what his new school's policy was on calling kids off school. He'd only been there a few weeks before Sam had gotten sick. He made a mental note to find out, just incase he was ever stuck in this situation again.

"Okay," he finally agreed. "I'll go to school, but I'm coming home right after, and I expect you to be right here." He nodded to the bed.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Where else would I be?"

Dean ignored the question. "And if you get any worse..." he trailed off, because he really had no idea what to tell him. There was no way for Sam to contact him. No one else for Sam to call. There was no one else that knew of their home life. "Just, don't get any worse, okay?" He pleaded.

"I won't." Sam assured. "I'm just gonna sleep." He seemed satisfied and relieved at Dean's decision and the older brother hated that they were so constricted by their ages.

Sammy laid back on the bed, as if to demonstrate how he would spend the rest of the day. Dean sighed, after a few minutes, Sam's breathing slowed and Dean walked over to him. Brushing some of his bangs off his forehead, forcing himself to ignore how they were stuck there by the sweat.

He bent over and placed a light kiss on the crown of his head. "Sleep tight, kiddo." He mumbled, not sure if Sam had actually fallen asleep or not yet, but guessing by how still he was, that if he hadn't, it wasn't far off. "I'll find a way to make you better. I promise."

Chance and Alan were two guys who hung our by the bleachers, at the back entrance of the school building. Dean had seen them the first few days of high school, as he had a tendency to arrive late, and the back doors were the only ones unlocked after eight.

He hadn't thought much of them. He could tell, just by looking at them, that they were bad guys. And really, it didn't take the joint perpetually hanging out of Chance's mouth or the beer always at Alan's side for him to realize this.

The mere fact that Alan, a guy who looked to be about eighteen years old, reminded him of his father, that was enough for Dean to know he was a bad guy. Chance didn't bother him as much, and was considerably younger, probably a year or so older than Dean himself. But he still didn't like the glare that he was always shooting at everyone. He wondered sometimes if it was intentional, or if that's just how his face was.

He hadn't thought about the two guys since his encounter with them a couple weeks ago. He'd forgotten all about them actually, until today.

"Dean!" It was Chance yelling for him.

He stopped automatically and looked over. They were standing there, just as they always were. The familiarity of it was enough to produce a flashback of what had happened earlier in the school year. A mere week or two ago.

"Come Here!" One of the two guys yelled.

Dean looked around him, just to make sure that there was no one else he could possibly be yelling at. Considering it was already past nine and no one else was around, he figured it was a safe bet that it was indeed him he was yelling to.

"You deaf?" Now that he younger teen was looking at them, he learned that it was the guy clad in the black hoodie who'd called out to him. He was now gesturing for Dean to join them under the bleachers.

It was one of those moments that'd he'd be able to go back to and pinpoint for the rest of his life. A timeless one that would change everything.

Had he grown up differently, with a father who loved him and taught him how to stand up for himself, he might have possessed the power to just walk away. To ignore them.

As it was, he'd grown up with a father who hated him and who he, despite all his best efforts to pretend not to be, was terrified of. And the guy in the thick , black biker jacket was now looking at him the same way his dad did when he dispensed orders. It was look he knew he had to succumb to, if he wanted to make it out of the situation unhurt.

It was that look that had him crossing the few feet of grass that separated them. It was the reminder of his father, that would change his life forever.

"You're pretty late." The one in the hoodie said, taking a drag from his joint. "That's not gonna look good on those college applications."

"Family stuff," he said in way of explanation, hating all the while that he felt like he owed this guy an explanation.

"Right," he nodded, but his eyes narrowed and his look became suspicious. There was a long pause, a stretch of silence that seemed to go on forever.

"We've been watching you," Hoodie guy finally continued. "I think we can help you out."

Well that was a little creepy. "What makes you think I need any kind of help?" Especially from stalker psychos like you. Internal sarcasm meant to disguise his own fear was the only thing he could manage to think of.

"You need money, right?" The guy responded.

Dean stared at him, completely dumbfounded, and at a loss for words.

"Don't looked so shocked," he tossed the now extinct joint casually to the side. "You don't really hide it. Ratty clothes, torn up stuff," he nodded to Dean's book bag. "You never eat."

"So what?" He asked harshly, not liking the accurateness of his evaluation.

"So, I have a way for you to make some extra cash." Dean was torn between curiosity and fear, he wanted to tell them to screw themselves, but somehow, that's not what came out of his mouth.

"Doing what?" He cursed himself, and thought again that he really knew nothing about these guys. Other than the fact that they were druggies, and proud of it.

"Nothin' much." Hoodie guy shrugged. "Just delivering a package."

Dean nodded, "You want me to be a drug dealer." He chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, I don't think so."

He turned to walk away. He was going to walk away from them. That had been the plan.

"Three hundred bucks," The guy in the leather jacket called out, halting Dean's movements. "To knock on a door and hand someone a box."

Dean swallowed, his mind oddly blank. "Why me?"

"We need someone new." Dean hadn't turned to face them again, but he could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "All my clients know Chance, and to be honest, they don't like him a whole lot. Think he talks too much. We need a fresh face."

"Okay," Dean agreed. He had no idea how these kind of things worked. All his knowledge of these situations came from second hand gossip stories and television, he never even considered the possibility that he'd find himself locked in this sort of encounter. It was a bit mind numbing. "But why me?"

"You got nothin' to loose."

Dean turned to face them again, his gaze hard and fixed. "No thanks." Because he did have something to loose.

Chance nodded, while the guy in the leather kept staring. Dean was scared of him, but he'd never admit it.

"Take this," Chance dug around the pockets of his baggy pants, before pulling out a pen and a paper. He scribbled something on it and handed it to Dean. "Call if you change your mind."

Dean snatched the small white paper without thinking and shoved it in his pocket. "Sure." He agreed, knowing it meant nothing, and turned away without so much as a glance back.

"We got a job lined up." Chance's voice brought him back to the present. That encounter felt as if it'd happened eons ago. It was part of a different lifetime. One not fueled by desperation. "Tomorrow afternoon."

He opened his mouth to yell back at him, tell him what he thought of their way of life and how much he didn't want to be a part of it. Then closed it, remembering Sam and the money they needed.

Alan saw his hesitation, and shot him a half-smile, that looked, in no way, sincere or comforting. He looked rather evil, actually."Think about it." He ordered.

Dean gave a curt nod and walked away.

He did as he was told.

He thought about it.

When Dean got home that afternoon, he went immediately to the bedroom, already picturing in his mind, Sam sitting upright on the bed with a genuine smile, playing solitaire or something, demanding that Dean let him got to school tomorrow. That he was fine. That's what Dean was praying for. That's what drove away the thoughts of his earlier encounter with Alan and Chance.

As it was, Sam was laying on his side, he looked up as soon as Dean made it to the door, and it was beyond obvious, after one glance at his expressionistic face, that he was in pain.

"Hey, Dean." Sam rasped from his slightly awkward position on the bed.

"Sammy," Dean said before rushing over to his side. "What's wrong?"

"My ear hurts." He said, not even bothering to try and hide the pain. That in itself sent up a red flag for the teenager. "It started earlier. I think I have an ear infection."

"Crap." Dean swore under his breath.

"Ear infections can actually cause fever and migraines. Remember?" Sam asked, and Dean realized that the fever may be making him slightly delusional. His voice was oddly factual, yet slightly high pitched and bordering on frantic. His eyes were glazed over and he was shaking.

"Yeah," he answered anyway. "I was hoping you didn't have one." He'd recognized the symptoms of the condition the first night his little brother had been sick, but he was praying it would just turn out to be a normal cold or flu.

He hated being helpless to stop whatever was causing Sam's pain, but at least those ailments you could wait out, and fight off with bed rest and chicken noodle soup. Dean had been praying, really praying,that that was all it would take.

"I remember the last time...you had an ear infection." Sam was obviously trying incredibly hard to get a grip on his thoughts. It was apparent in the way that he was speaking that his mind was blurry and unfocused.

Dean cringed at the memory his little brother was referring to. "Dad's not here Sammy, he's not gonna get mad at you like that, okay?"

"Kay..." he mumbled, before falling back against the cushioned pillows.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned, not liking the way his brother would not respond. "Sammy. Say something." His voice rose slightly in panic as he reached out and gripped Sam's shoulders. "Please, say something!"

Sam turned his head slightly to the side and let our a small cough.

"Sammy?" He tried again.

"Something." He choked and it wasn't until Dean saw the slight smirk did he relax somewhat.

"Funny," He said sarcastically, then sighed, actually relieved.

"Do I have to go to the doctor?" Sam asked, sounding utterly and completely frightened at the notion.

"Sam..." Dean started.

"'Cause we can't." He said desperately. "Not without dad, Dean we can't..."

"I know, Sammy." He soothed, reaching a hand out and placing it on his forehead comfortingly, with the intention of checking his fever. He was still burning up. "There's medicine at the store that I can get for you. Medicine we don't need to go to the doctor for."

Sammy nodded, and let his head fall to the right. The side that he'd been resting on before. It was obvious that the infection was in the left ear. Dean sympathized with his baby brother, having an ear infection was killer.

In his opinion, it had been worse when he'd had one and their dad had been there yelling at him and smacking him around like it was his fault he'd developed the infection. But at least the man had provided the proper medication for his ailing son. The medicine that Sammy now needed. The medicine that cost about thirty bucks at the drugstore around the corner.

"I'm gonna fix this Sammy." He whispered hoarsely, biting his lip to keep from crying. "I'm gonna make you better."

He hated feeling helpless. He hated that there was nothing he could do to make their lives better. They'd been abandoned by their father. Thrown to the side like garbage. Abused, threatened and hated by the one person who was supposed to love them unconditionally.

Dean didn't understand how this could have happened to them. When he was younger, he didn't know what normal was supposed to mean. He didn't have anything to compare their lifestyle to. He thought having a mean father was the way it was supposed to be. Why else would that social services lady leave him here with him? Couldn't she see what was really going on?

Dean didn't know much at that age, and in all honesty, he knew less now. He didn't know why John Winchester hated his sons enough to hurt them and then abandon them. He didn't understand why his mother had died. He couldn't possibly fathom any reasoning behind their constant suffering. Why was this happening to them?

What he did know though, what he would always understand, was that it was his responsibility to take care of Sammy. He didn't need anybody to tell him that, he didn't need rules or reasoning for that simple fact of life. He loved his baby brother, and Sam was all he had left in this world.

Dean would do anything to keep his little brother safe and healthy. He would provide for him, no matter what the cost. They didn't need their father. Not today, not ever.

"I'm gonna take care of you Sam." He said out loud, reminding himself of what he knew he had to do.

"You always do." Sam's words were mumbled and he sounded only slightly coherent. Which just cemented Dean's decision. Sammy needed him. Sammy needed him to be strong and to take care of things.

"I'll be right back." He mumbled, pulling his brother's blanket up before rising to his feet.

On unsteady legs he walked across the room, finding the pair of dirty pants he was looking for, he searched through the pockets, finding what he wanted in the tiny, slightly crumbled joint paper.

He made his way out to the kitchen, hands shaking, breathing labored. The only thought that would stick in his head was the one he kept repeating to himself again and again.

He had to do this, Sammy needed him.

He dialed the numbers into the phone, feeling the entire time as if he were functioning on auto-pilot.

Chance answered on the third ring. "What?" He greeted him.

"Chance?" He confirmed.

"Who's asking?" Doing his best to act like a tough guy.

"It's Dean." He said, continuing without preamble. "You know that job you mentioned?"

"Yeah?" He said, sounding doubtful.

He swallowed and sucked in a lungful of air. "I'm interested."

There was a long pause, and Dean held his breath. Half hoping that the other boy would tell him that he had waited too long, that they had found someone else to do their illegal bidding. Half praying that he wasn't too late, believing that this was the only way he could get money. The only way he could take care of his brother.

A few moments that felt like an eternity had passed, before Chance responded with words that would effectively change Dean's life forever.

"It's about damn time. I almost gave up on your punk ass." The older boy chuckled. "You sure you're in?"

He was giving him an out. It was a disclaimer almost, a warning. He was either all in, or he was out. No middle ground existed in Chance's world. The one Dean absolutely refused to think of as the life of a drug dealer. He wasn't a drug dealer.

That would be too melodramatic of a term. Too movie of the week, chick flickish, need for an intervention, drama ensuing, and ultimately dangerous of a term. This wasn't a new way of life, this didn't shape who he was. This was just a way to get money. Money that his family needed.

It was simple equation. So incredibly easy to understand, that he almost laughed out loud.

Dean needs money to take care of Sammy. Dean gets money so he can take care of Sammy. That was that. That was all that mattered.

So he ignored the lump in his throat and the gnawing in his gut.

"Yeah," he said as firmly as he could manage. "I'm in."

TBC...

So, what do you think? Realistic? A plot worth pursuing? Should I continue with this, or try something else? Really, any thoughts would be nice!