A Twist of Fate

by Zara Zee

1864: John Winchester leaves his sons in the boarding house where they are staying and rides out of town, following yet another lead on the men who murdered his wife.The boys are declared abandoned and sent to the poorhouse. Full summary & warnings Part1

4. Chapter 4

A Twist of Fate…Part 4

(See Part 1 for warnings…please note that the story gets darker from here on in…)

[Thank you to everyone who has added this to their favorites and alerts and to those who have left reviews…especially souless666 who has reviewed each chapter! Thank you so much! :) ]

May 1873

Sam was going to be tall. Of that, he was certain. He was only fourteen and already he was five foot eleven inches. Dean was tall—at eighteen he was a solid six foot one, but judging by the size of Sam's own hands and feet, he strongly suspected that he was going to be even bigger than his older brother, and in their world an imposing height was definitely a good thing.

As Sam headed for home, striding confidently through the twisted maze of alleys and laneways that was his neighborhood, he noted with pride how people already shrank away from him. His shadow, thrown up on the alley walls behind him by the morning's dawning rays looked big, dark and menacing and Sam was positive that one day he would be as imposing a figure as his shadow.

In many ways, Sam already seemed bigger than he was. He was Gordon's right hand man and it was widely acknowledged (although never to Gordon's face) that Sam was the brains of the crew. He had the protection rackets working like clockwork and since Sam had started researching and procuring the burglary and armed robbery jobs, there had been far fewer murders committed in the commission of their crimes, and fewer arrests too. The biggest benefit, though, was that Alastair was no longer providing the intel for the jobs, which meant that his cut of the burglary and armed robbery profits was much smaller. Gordon's cut—and this was the significant part—was accordingly much, much larger; and he liked that—and therefore Sam—a lot.

Alastair didn't like Sam very much and not just because he'd done him out of easy money. Alastair could sense that Dean'd had some experience in performing sexual services for men back before the Winchesters had joined the Unholy Trinity, and he knew that in large part, Dean's continued, infuriating refusal to work in his brothels was because he'd promised Sam he wouldn't do that sort of thing anymore. Alastair not only wanted Dean in his employ, but also in his bed and so far, he'd been completely unable to persuade him into it. Sam had it on good authority that Alastair's patience was starting to wear thin, especially now that Dean was eighteen. It was a worry, but Dean had been deftly side-stepping the man's advances for six years now and Sam knew that Alastair wouldn't want to risk completely antagonizing Dean because he did earn a lot of money for the Unholy Trinity.

Dean was not only one of the best conmen the Trinity had, he also had a brilliant scam going making counterfeit national bank notes and was, under the title of 'person or persons unknown,' at the top of the Secret Service's Most Wanted list. The thought made Sam shudder. If Dean were caught, he'd be hanged for sure. Then again, he himself ran the same risk every time he went out on a Job. They lived in a dangerous world and survival was by no means guaranteed. Just last year Ansem had been hanged. Scott and Billy were both dead too; Billy was ganked by the Dead Rabbits and Scott had gotten on Gordon's bad side and been knifed in the back. And Artful Andy? He'd seen the writing on the wall when his older brother had been executed and had bought himself passage out to Victoria, Australia. Apparently there was a gold rush going on and he wanted a fresh start for himself; a new life. Sam was pleased for him, but he missed him a great deal and hoped that he was doing alright.

Sam started up the stairs towards the room that he and his brother shared in one of the better tenement buildings in the neighborhood. The stairs were barely rotted; only a couple of steps were dodgy; and the room itself was a decent size. Sam paused briefly at the door, just long enough to note that there was no sock hung on the door knob. He breathed a sigh of relief. The Job he'd just finished up had been tougher than expected and he wanted nothing more than to wash up, have a drink and fall into bed. If he'd had to sit out in the corridor for however long while his brother finished fucking his latest playmate, he would've been really pissed.

Dean went through women the way some men went through hot dinners; something new and different every day. Sam rubbed absently at his jaw. He still thought that Dean was over compensating for the things he'd been forced to do in his younger days; and the fact that a lot of men still looked at him like he was a tasty rabbit and they were hungry wolves; but the first (and last) time he'd mentioned this to Dean his brother had knocked him on his ass with a well-aimed punch to his jaw.

Sam entered the room and relaxed immediately; he was home. Of course, home would always be wherever Dean was, but that didn't mean he wasn't proud of this place. With the exception of Jo, none of their friends had a room as big and well-appointed as this. Jo lived in at Harvelle's Whorehouse; she and her Momma had a comfortable private room off the main entertainment suite; so Sam wasn't sure that was a fair comparison. In any event, his and Dean's room was big enough for a proper kitchen table with four chairs, a couple of easy chairs, a couple of cupboards and—the thing Sam was most proud of—a proper four-poster bed, tucked away behind a thick canvas curtain. In these parts, very few people could afford more than a straw mattress on the floor and Sam was justifiably proud of the fact that he and Dean had a proper bed. There had been one or two suggestive comments made (by Alastair's cohorts for the most part), but in an area where poverty was rife and space was at a premium, it wasn't at all uncommon for siblings to share a bed. And in the middle of winter, when the temperature in New York had dipped to well below freezing, the opportunity to share body heat was invaluable. Dean and Sam Winchester slept together in only the most literal sense of the word; the fact that they were brothers aside, they were both far too interested in girls to look at each other with anything other than strictly fraternal love. Still, the many men who'd been on the receiving end of Sam's cold, clinical violence would've been astounded to hear that the rage-filled maiming-machine who'd pounded them bloody had trouble falling asleep unless his big brother's arms were wrapped around him. Sam sighed. Azazel hadn't been too far off the mark when he'd told them they were unhealthily co-dependent.

Dean wasn't in the main part of the room, but Sam could hear splashing coming from the tiny annex off to the side. Here, they had set up a tub, a wash basin and a commode and although there wasn't room for more than one person to enter the annex at a time, the boys relished having a private area set aside for washing and grooming. Sam took a deep breath and sighed happily. One of the things he loved most about their home was the clean smell. Dean had fixed up the fire place with a proper chimney that exhausted the smoke outside, and had used his connections to get them real, properly fitted glass windows. Nothing in their room was rotted or broken, they kept the place clean, and Dean even had sweet-smelling incense burning around the place, a trick he'd learnt from a Chinese girl.

Sam moved quietly across the room until he was leaning in the annex door way. The tub was half full of steaming water and Dean was standing next to it, toweling himself vigorously.

'Morning Professor,' he grinned pushing past Sam and heading for the curtained off area they used as a bedroom. 'Tub's still hot if you wanna wash up.'

When they'd first arrived in New York, Sam had wanted to go to school badly, so Dean had organized for him to attend the local mission school a few days a week. He'd spun a huge yarn about their parents having a dairy farm just outside of town and his good looks and quick tongue had deflected all requests to meet their parents for a good long while. Ma and Pa can't leave the farm, the cows are calving; the cows are sick; they've just got a big order in and they're milking 24/7. Ma and Pa can't read, he'd told them when they'd tried to send notes home. It had taken nearly a year for the teachers to realize that there were no parents and never had been, and Dean had had to yank Sam from class quick smart and go into hiding to avoid the attentions of the Children's Aid Society who wanted to put them both in an orphanage. Dean and Sam had conned the teachers at the mission school into thinking they had parents with a dairy farm for eight whole months, and even though Azazel had taken a razor strop to both of them when he'd found out what they'd been up to, he had been impressed. The lesson hadn't been 'don't pull cons' it had been 'don't pull cons without permission.'

Sam was a very able student and even though he'd been forced to drop out of education, he'd learnt almost as much as the mission school had to teach him anyway. Since then, he'd been self-taught; buying books and reading up on mathematics, history, philosophy, science, and law every chance he got. Dean had been teasing him with the nickname 'professor' since Sam was ten, but Sam was smart enough to know the teasing merely camouflaged Dean's pride in his gifted little brother.

Sam waited until Dean was dressed in his underclothes and then said:

'Dean?'

When his brother looked at him he straightened up and let Dean see the pain he was in; the way he was favoring his left arm.

'Fuck,' said Dean, 'Dislocated?'

'Yeah. Could you pop it back for me?'

Dean nodded.

'Anything else I need to know about?'

Sam unbuckled his trousers, peeled back his bloody underwear and showed his brother the knife slash across his hip.

'It's just a scratch,' he said, 'but the knife was a bit rusty.'

'Shit,' Dean poked at it gently with his fingers, 'it's already starting to heal. Give it a good wash in the tub and we'll get it disinfected with hooch. Let's get your shoulder sorted. On three, okay?' he put his hands on either side of Sam's left shoulder.

'C'mon Sam, you've gotta relax or it's gonna hurt like hell. It's alright. I'll give you fair warning before—'

He slammed Sam's shoulder back into position.

'Sonovabitch!' Sam yelled, 'You call that fair warning?'

Dean shrugged. 'If I give you fair warning you tense up. Gotta catch you by surprise.'

He disappeared from the annex, giving Sam time and privacy to strip his clothes off and get into the tub. He was back almost as soon as Sam was in the water with a tumbler of whiskey which he handed to his younger brother.

Sam took a sip and raised an eyebrow. 'The good stuff, huh?'

'So what happened?'

Sam almost shrugged, but then thought better of it.

'The barber? Over on Orange Street? Decided to take pride in his Irish heritage. We got there to pick up The Trinity's weekly tribute and he told us our services were no longer required, the Dead Rabbits were looking after him now. There was a short, heated conversation, he got a lucky swipe in with the knife, Jack and I showed him the error of his ways and he paid what was owed.'

'And the shoulder?'

Sam took a long drink, his eyes averted.

'That was an accident.' He looked up. 'Gordon kinda lost it when I told him about the barber. I didn't get out the way quick enough.'

Dean's eyes darkened.

'Sonovabitch,' he muttered. 'One day I'm gonna rip that asshole's head off!'

Sam grinned. 'Okay so now that you've done your Mother Hen routine, you wanna get outta here? Let me bathe in private?'

Dean rolled his eyes and moved away.

When Sam finally reappeared Dean was at his side instantly, swabbing his hip with alcohol and tying gauze over the wound, despite Sam swatting at his hands and telling him he could take care of himself.

'Get dressed,' was Dean's only response. 'I'm making eggs and toast.'

'So,' said Dean, when Sam slid into the seat opposite him, 'rumble at the barber's next week, huh? Dead Rabbits'll send a full squad in to defend the barber; Gordon'll send a full squad in to make sure he collects his tribute. All Hell's gonna break loose.'

Sam made a non-committal noise and Dean's eyes narrowed.

'Gordon'd better lead the squad,' he said, 'He will, right?'

Sam had been shoveling away his fried egg while his brother talked and he took another couple of huge bites now to buy himself some time.

'No,' he said eventually, 'Gordon ain't gonna be there. He's heading out day after next to crack the flash toffs' summer cribs; Long Island first, then up to Boston, Maine and so on.'

Dean's eyes tightened in that way that said he was not only angry but a little scared too.

'Oh, so…what? He's gonna leave you to clean up this mess? God damn it Sam! You're only fourteen!'

Sam shoveled the last of his egg and toast into his mouth.

'Actually,' he said, striving for nonchalance and failing badly if Dean's sudden tension was anything to go by, 'Gordon wants me to go with him.'

When he couldn't stand the silence any more, Sam glanced up at Dean.

'You're not going, right?' Dean said.

'Actually…I think I will.'

There was another silence.

'But you'll be gone for, what? Three months?'

'About that,' Sam agreed.

Dean ran a hand across his jaw.

'Why? You got enough work here to keep you busy for months! You don't need to leave.'

'Dean, this is huge! Gordon's a master cracksman and he's never taken anyone with him to hit the summer cribs before. He's got his own Fence out there, always makes a fortune and Azazel and Alastair, they don't get much of a cut. Him letting me in on that? Don't you see, Dean? If Gordon gets shanked, or hanged or when he just gets too old to keep going, I'm gonna be the one to step into his shoes. I need to do this. It's like…God, Dean it's…for me? This is like going to college!'

Dean collected the empty plates and dumped them in the Annex's wash basin.

'I can't believe you're planning to just take off!'

'I'm gonna come back!'

'Are you?'

'Of course I am. Fuck, Dean. You know I have trouble sleeping if I can't hear you breathing! I'm just going to do a Job; that's all.'

Dean studied him intently for a moment and then sighed and nodded.

'I don't like the thought of us being apart. How'm I s'posed to look out for you if you're in another city? But… if it's what you really wanna do, I ain't gonna stop you.'

'Thank you.' Sam said fervently.

Dean turned away. 'I'm gonna hit the sack.'

Sam waited until Dean was tucked up in bed and then slipped in beside him, spooning him from behind and wrapping his arms around him.

'Seriously. Thank you.'

'Get off me you big fuckin' girl,' Dean said, but Sam could hear the grin in his voice, so he knew he wasn't really mad.

-X-

Dean rolled over in bed (far too big and empty now that Sam had gone) and groaned, wishing to Christ his head would stop throbbing. It was pounding so loud it was almost as if…

Dean opened his eyes and cocked an ear towards the door.

Goddamn it. Someone was pounding on his door.

'Fuck off!' he yelled.

'Dean?'

Ah hell.

Dean slipped out of bed and threw open the door.

'What?' he glared at Jo.

She looked him up and down.

'You open the door to everyone in your underwear?'

'What d'you care?' he challenged, 'you've seen me wearing less.'

Jo shoved him back through his open door, which she closed behind her.

'You're a class act, Dean. You know the sock's still on the door knob, right?'

Dean frowned. It was habit that was all. So Sam had been gone two months; so there was no-one to warn that there was some hanky panky going on inside; so he'd been so drunk last night that he couldn't even remember who he'd been with, let alone whether he'd thought to take the sock off the door knob when he was done.

'So where is she?'

'Who?'

'The broad you banged last night.'

Dean shrugged. 'Guess I kicked her out. You know I don't like 'em sleeping over.'

'Yeah,' Jo folded her arms, 'I remember. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.'

Dean raised his eyebrows. 'Fuck off, Jo. I learnt that trick from you.'

Jo's mouth twitched and then she threw her head back and laughed.

'Okay,' she held her hands up, palms out. 'Truce?'

She sat down at the kitchen table.

'How about you offer a lady a coffee? And while you're at it, make one for yourself. You look like shit and you smell like a still.'

Dean dropped some wood into the fireplace and poked at the smoldering embers, stoking the fire.

'Don't see no ladies around here,' he muttered as he filled the kettle with water from the barrel.

'Oh ha ha. I ain't never heard that one before. Unlike you, least I get paid for swingin' my ass all around town!'

Dean's hands stilled over the coffee cups.

'You ain't here with another one of Alastair's sales pitches are you?'

Jo snorted and gave him a bitch face that she must've stolen from Sam. Or maybe Sam stole it from her. Either way, it shut him down fast.

'Okay, okay. Sorry.'

He handed Jo one of the coffee cups, and sat down opposite her.

She reached out and put a hand over his.

'If you would just find yourself a nice girl and settle down, I'm pretty sure Alastair would back off. He just can't stand the fact that you're giving it away for free. You put it about like a whore, Dean; it pisses him off that he ain't makin' a profit outta you.'

'The Trinity doesn't own me.' Dean spat, snatching his hand away. 'What I do in my spare time is my business!'

Jo just looked sad, and okay, Dean didn't believe what he'd just said any more than Jo did. The Trinity did own him, every inch of him, just like they owned Jo; and Ellen; and Sam; and everyone else. The only way out of the Trinity was in a body bag, unless you were as crafty as Artful Andy and you managed to escape to Australia. Dean could fight the unholy threesome all he wanted, but unless he was willing and able to take them all out, ultimately he would always end up doing as he was told. If he wasn't making so much money for them with the cons, the hustles and the counterfeiting scams, Dean knew that Alastair would've forced the whole brothel issue years ago.

Dean ran a tired hand over his face. 'Look,' he said, 'if Alastair just wanted me to play Boy Toy to the wealthy widows, I'd seriously think about it. But you know what he wants, Jo, and I'm not just gonna roll over and do that.'

Jo nodded.

'Well I'm just here as a friend. You've been awful quiet since your last Job and, well, if you don't keep bringin' home the big wins the Trinity's got used to, it's gonna give Alastair all the excuse he needs. So tell me what's goin' on with you. Do you miss Sam? Is that it?'

Now it was Dean's turn to snort. 'Yeah, I miss Sam, but that ain't the problem.'

'Then what is?'

Dean took a sip of his coffee. It was strong and bitter and smacked him upside the head in exactly the same way Jo was doing.

'I fucked up, okay?' he said, 'And no, I don't really wanna talk about it.'

Jo gave him a hard look.

'How d'you fuck up? Are we in danger?'

Dean shook his head.

'You know about my last job?'

Jo nodded.

'Buncha whites with black partners, some even had kids together. Azazel sent you out to blackmail 'em.'

Dean's jaw clenched.

'Right,' he said tightly, 'and that didn't sit well with me. I tried real hard to get outta that gig. Anyway, as luck would have it, I found me an alternative. There was a sick pervert up there who was murdering blacks, just for the hell of it. A rich kid. I showed his daddy proof and then blackmailed daddy for my silence. Only not long after, the kid got himself killed, so of course the blackmail money dried up. Azazel wanted me to go back after the salt 'n' pepper couples but I couldn't. They were good folks, Jo, decent, and…I…just couldn't do it.'

'You liked them,' Jo said softly, 'you liked your marks.'

Dean looked down at the table.

'There was a girl,' he said softly, 'Cassie. Her momma was white, her daddy was black. Smart girl; beautiful; a real spit fire. She was doin' well for herself, passin' as Creole. I…' Dean hunched in on himself and Jo's eyes widened.

'Oh Dean,' she murmured, 'you fell in love. I thought I taught you better'n that, boy! Never fall in love with a mark; never fall in love with a john. Never. It's the golden rule.'

'I know.' Dean looked up, his eyes miserable, 'but I fell hard. So hard, that I told her the truth.'

Jo's eyes narrowed.

'What? What truth? You said we weren't in any danger! Goddamn it Dean! What did you tell her?'

'Relax. Not enough for her to identify me or the Trinity. Just enough for her to know what I am. What I do. She…didn't take it too well. So. Yeah.'

'What did you tell Azazel?'

Dean laughed unhappily. 'Like I've ever been able to lie to ol' Yellow Eyes.'

Jo's eyes were full of compassion.

'Bad?'

Dean shrugged.

'Bad enough. Not like I didn't deserve it.'

'Anything I need to take a look at?'

Dean shook his head. 'The bruising's almost gone. And he didn't crack any of my ribs this time, so I'm practically as good as new now.'

Jo sighed and put a hand to his cheek. 'At least he didn't mess up your pretty face.'

Dean grimaced. 'Well he's not stupid, is he? Not gonna make as much money if my face is battered, am I?'

They sat in silence for a while, finishing their coffee, and then Jo said:

'So what you need is a chance to redeem yourself, right?'

Dean pulled a face.

'I guess. What did you have in mind?'

'Alastair's planning a Job—no, wait Dean, not that kind of job, it's a con job.'

'Yeah?'

Jo nodded. 'Yeah. The mark is one of the late Boss Tweed's protégés. Rich as fuck and all of it earned in kickbacks. He plays poker at the Rosewood Club on Fifth Avenue every Friday night and he always hires their penthouse for the evening. According to Alastair's source, this guy is so paranoid that his money'll get cabbaged that he takes it everywhere with him; keeps thousands of dollars strapped to his body at all times. Alastair wants me to go in to Rosewood with one of Azazel's boys. The boy'll be a badger, playing the role of a young gentleman. He'll play poker with the mark but eventually lose to him. I'll play Lady Luck for the mark. When he wins, I'll let him take me up to his room to celebrate. According to Alastair, he'll then put his money in his wall safe and retire to his bed chamber to have his wicked way with me. The badger'll break into the room and empty the safe while I keep the mark safely distracted. You, my dear, would be a perfect badger. What do you say?'

'Sure. Why not? It'll get me on Azazel's good side again if I get in on a big job like that.'

Jo beamed.

'That's great. Clean yourself up and then come over. We'll talk to Alastair and go over the details. This is fantastic Dean! We always did make a great team!'

-X-

The Rosewood Club was strictly black tie, top hat and tails, and it was members and guests only which meant a great deal of background work, setting up fake identities and finding a couple of members they could blackmail into inviting them as guests. Dean was posing as Samuel Remington from Boston, visiting his cousin, a member of the club. And Jo was Mary-Beth, the niece of Major-General William P. Hayes, a very elderly member of the club. When Hayes retired to his bed chamber at nine pm, he gave Jo permission to stay and enjoy herself, and the winks and flirtatious smiles she gave the gathered men left them in no doubt that she was a niece of the 'wink, wink, nod, nod' variety. Dean was playing his young gentleman role with a delicately balanced mixture of cocky bravado and shy innocence. When their target—Alexander Connolly—invited Dean to join his poker game, Dean's delighted smile was ninety percent genuine.

Jo gravitated to Connolly's side and offered to blow on his cards for luck; flirting just exactly the right amount—enough to signal her interest, not enough to make him suspicious. Connolly treated her with polite respect and as time passed and the game progressed Dean could see Jo starting to get a little desperate; for all the interest their mark was showing in her, she may as well have been a leper.

'So Samuel,' Connolly said suddenly, 'How are you enjoying your time in the big city?'

'I'm having a most enjoyable time, thank you, sir.' Dean said earnestly.

'I suppose a charming, fine-looking young man such as yourself has a girl waiting for him back home, right?' Connolly said. His voice was low; rough with an undercurrent that Dean recognized all too well. His eyes came up slowly and not until he was sure they looked honest and innocent. Dean didn't want Connolly to see his jaded, world-weary understanding; the expression that was too hard and far too old for a sheltered young gentleman.

'No, sir,' he said, letting his tongue dart out and swipe across his lips, 'I don't have a girl.' He bit gently at his bottom lip and forced a faint flush to creep onto his face.

Connolly's own lips parted, his eyes darkening briefly with lust and Dean silently cursed Alastair to Hell and back. The man's intel was always first rate; there was no way in Hades he didn't know about Connolly's sexual preferences. But if Dean backed out of the gig now, after all the planning and organizing; if he fucked up another job; Alastair would have him beaten half to death. And worse, he'd drag Jo down with him.

Connolly stroked his foot gently against Dean's calf and Dean tugged self-consciously at his cravat and allowed the appropriate responses to run across his face; shock, desire, guilt, curiosity.

'Well, well,' said Jo, sashaying across to Dean's side of the table, 'No girl back home, eh? Maybe I should be blowing on your cards for good luck instead.'

'You sure?' she breathed in his ear as she leaned forwards to do just that. He gave her the 'okay to carry on' signal and she leaned into him, putting her arms around him in what looked like a very forward move, but was really just her way of liberating the brace drill and the punch rod from inside his jacket. A subtle shift as she straightened up and she had them hidden under her shawl.

'Miss?' Dean said, 'I, uh, I don't think I'm any more interested in you than Mr. Connolly.'

'Perhaps you ought to go on up to your Uncle,' Connolly suggested, 'before you make a fool of yourself.'

Jo pouted and then sighed.

'Fine. Enjoy your evening gentlemen.'

Dean waited until Jo had left the room and then gestured at the cards before meeting Connolly's eyes again.

'Your move, sir,' he said.

Connolly grinned wolfishly. 'Yes,' he mused, 'I rather think it is.'

-X-

Jo stood deep in shadow, her arms tightly folded across her chest and her right foot tapping nervously against the dusty wooden floor. The faint white glow of the full moon danced jaggedly off the broken window pane and Jo used the illumination to watch the front door of the Rosewood Club, focusing on it with the steadfast attention of a fox watching a rabbit hole.

What the Hell was taking Dean so long?

The job itself had been simple enough. She'd hung around in the upstairs corridor and as soon as she'd seen Dean and Connolly disappear into Connolly's room she'd had her ear to the door. When she'd heard Dean ask if they could move things to the bedroom, she'd waited a full five minutes and then picked the lock on the door and edged quietly into the room. Drilling the face of the lock had taken her fifteen minutes and bending the lever out of the way so that it didn't obscure the path of the bolt had taken her a further five minutes. The belt bag was in the safe just as Alastair's source had said it would be and Jo didn't bother to count the money, just snatched it up, yanked her skirts up and fixed it around her waist before sneaking out of the room. The last thing she heard, just before she slipped out the door, was Connolly gasp: 'Oh God! Samuel! That's it. So good.'

Jo folded her arms the other way and rocked back and forth from her heels to her toes. 'God damn it, Dean,' she muttered, 'what are you doing, boy?'

As soon as Jo had left the Rosewood Club she'd hailed a hansom cab and gone straight to Harvelle's Whorehouse to give Alastair the cash.

'Jo,' he'd greeted her cheerfully, 'where's Dean?'

Jo hadn't answered; she'd simply lifted up her skirts and stripped off the money belt. Alastair's eyes had lit up with delight.

'Excellent my dear! So you cracked the safe and Dean played the decoy, eh? Isn't it wonderful that I insist on all my girls and boys having so many different talents? Of course, Dean has always resisted my attempts to, shall we say, cross train him. But he's come through for us now, eh? With flying colors! Is he still with the mark?'

Jo had nodded and Alastair had rubbed his hands together with glee.

'Excellent. Go and wait for him: Across the road where he was supposed to wait for you. Bring him straight back here. I want to debrief you together.'

Jo's attention was snapped back to the present by movement at the door of the Club. It was Dean and Jo's relief was palpable. He hesitated on the sidewalk for a moment and then headed slowly over to the building where she waited. He was limping, just a little bit. Jo probably wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it.

She met him at the door.

'Are you okay?'

Dean nodded.

'You get the cash?' he asked.

'I did. Delivered it to Alastair straight away. He wants us back there now; wants to debrief us.'

Dean snorted. 'Oh I just bet he does.'

Jo smiled tentatively. A snarky Dean was a normal Dean. This was good.

'Let's go,' she said.

'No.' said Dean.

Jo blinked. 'No?'

'No. I'm gonna go home, take a long, hot bath, drink half a bottle of hooch and hit the hay.'

'But Alastair—'

'Alastair can get fucked. He knew Jo! He had to. He set me up!'

'Yeah, Dean, he probably did. The important thing is…are you okay? Did you get…hurt?'

Dean huffed out a short laugh and ran a hand across his jaw.

'We ain't havin' this conversation,' he said, 'I'm goin' home.'

Jo followed him. Partly because she was worried by his burst of rage and the angry set of his shoulders, but mostly because she lived at Harvelle's and if she went back there without Dean, Alastair would know immediately and it wouldn't be pretty, for either her or Dean.

Dean tried to keep her out of his room, but Jo simply bustled in after him, propelling him forwards with both hands at his waist. He made some token resistance and then stopped fighting her with an exasperated sigh. Jo went straight for the kitchen cupboard and grabbed out a bottle of Old Jake Beam and a bottle of Wil Parker's home-brewed moonshine.

'You want hooch or the good stuff?' she asked.

Dean held out a hand for the hooch and made an impatient noise when Jo turned away to pour a couple of fingers into a glass for him.

'Just give me the bottle,' he grumbled.

Jo handed him the glass with a bright smile.

'Sit down,' she said, 'I'll fill up the tub for you.'

She picked up a big stew pot and headed over to the water barrel, tapping it to gauge how much water was left.

'Sorry Dean,' she said with a frown, 'you don't have enough water to fill the tub.'

She turned around and found Dean standing exactly where she'd left him. His empty glass was sitting on the kitchen table and he was clutching at his stomach with a pained, almost panicky look on his face.

'Go and lie down,' she said.

The fact that he complied without argument was almost frightening.

Jo stoked up the fire and exchanged the stew pot for a flat iron, which she buried deep inside the smoldering embers. She took a spare blanket from the trunk under the bed and when the flat iron was good and hot she wrapped it inside the blanket and took it over to Dean.

'It'll help with the cramps,' she said, placing it gently against his stomach.

Dean folded his arms over his face. His shoulders began to tremble slightly and Jo realized that he was crying. She sat down next to him and murmured meaningless platitudes, rubbing a hand through his hair until he managed to pull himself together.

'Did he…is something…damaged?' he asked, his bleak voice muffled by the arms that still obscured his face.

'I don't know,' Jo said softly, 'Are you bleeding?'

'No.'

'Did he—'

'Yeah.'

'But you're not bleeding?'

'No.'

Jo frowned. 'Are you sure he—'

'—stuck his dick up my ass? Yeah.'

Jo sucked in air slowly.

'I think maybe you'd better tell me exactly what happened tonight.'

Dean was silent for a very long time and then he sighed.

'I knew I had to get him into the bedroom so that you could get at the safe. So I pretended like I was interested, but played shy at the same time, you know? Said I wanted to get away from the door in case somebody knocked, cuz they might hear us. Of course, he was all too happy to move things into the bedroom. I figured we'd talk a bit, and then I'd, ya know, jack him off, suck him if he made a fuss and then… I figured…I'm meant to be a naïve young gentleman…it wouldn't be out of character for me to suddenly feel ashamed of myself and panic; to realize I'd been cavorting with a sodomite; going against God and the law; and to just get the hell outta there.'

Dean stopped talking.

'Good plan,' Jo encouraged, 'That's how I would've played it in your place too.'

'Yeah, well, didn't quite work out like that,' Dean said softly, 'I tried to make him come, first with my hand and then I gave in and let him put it in my mouth, but he made me pull off him just when I thought it was almost over. You know what he did then? He sucked me into his mouth! And you still weren't finished, Jo, so I just…I shut my eyes and, ya know, I figured guy's mouth, girl's mouth, they both feel warm and wet, if I don't open my eyes I can just pretend…' Dean moved his arms and stared intently at Jo. 'I didn't mean to enjoy it,' he whispered.

Jo ran her hand through his hair again. 'It's okay, Dean,' she said, 'It doesn't matter, it's just a natural reaction to stimulation, it doesn't mean anything.'

'He wouldn't let me come,' Dean said after a pause, 'just kept taking me to the edge, over and over again. And then he got out this oil. He dipped his fingers into it and…'

Dean's voice seized up and Jo watched as a single tear welled up and ran down his cheek.

'He used his fingers to stretch you and open you up,' she said matter-of-factly.

Dean nodded and bit at his bottom lip, the tears now flowing freely down his cheeks.

'And he found this spot…inside…,' Dean admitted, 'which…actually…it felt pretty awesome.'

'That's your prostate.'

'Oh.' Dean rubbed a sleeve over his face and then peered up at Jo, 'how come you know so much about this stuff?'

Jo rolled her eyes.

'Professional interest. Whores talk shop too ya know.'

'Right.' Dean picked a spot over Jo's left shoulder and said: 'I was a complete mess. He'd kept me on the edge so long; I was so…over-stimulated…that I couldn't think straight. When he suddenly pulled off and out and rolled me over, it never even occurred to me to fight it. And then he's telling me that it's easier to do it this way the first time, but next time he wants to be looking into my pretty green eyes when he takes me,' Dean paused and took a shaky breath, 'It hurt. Not as bad as I thought it would, but still. And I really didn't wanna do it but…I'd been on the edge so long…'

'It's okay, Dean,' Jo said gently, 'you're a young, healthy guy. It's perfectly normal to get off. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean you wanted it, doesn't mean you're a pansy. It sounds like Connolly was considerate in bed and that's a good thing. You're probably not damaged, but some cramping is pretty much inevitable after that kind of sex. You're gonna be okay. Okay?'

Dean looked at her skeptically, and then he nodded.

'But Dean?' Jo fixed him with a stern look, 'We really need to go and report in to Alastair.'

-X-

Alastair wanted details and Dean refused to give them to him, saying simply that he'd entertained Connolly while Jo had cracked the safe. Of course, it went without saying that what Alastair wanted, Alastair got and Dean might've been a stubborn sonovabitch, but when Alastair grabbed him by the hair, held a large knife flush up against his balls and promised to carve him into a whole new creature if he didn't describe what had happened in lurid detail, Dean caved. He gave Alastair a clinical account of his time with Connolly and he was able to do it without any emotion, which clearly disappointed Alastair, who needled and stirred, trying to provoke Dean into some kind of outburst. Dean didn't give him the satisfaction and Jo was proud of him.

'C'mon,' she said when Alastair finally dismissed them, 'you may as well come and see Momma; she's only gonna be round pounding on your front door in an hour or so when she gets wind of what happened tonight.'

Dean snorted.

'You could try not telling her?'

Jo shoved him sideways. 'This is Ellen Harvelle we're talkin' about. She wants you to talk, you talk.'

The minute Dean and Jo were through the door Ellen wrapped her arms around Dean and held him tight.

'Oh baby,' she said, 'Are you okay?'

Dean pulled away. 'You knew?'

'About Connolly's proclivities, yes. But Alastair didn't give up the mark's name until your final briefing. I didn't know who you were going after until tonight and as soon as I found out,' Ellen cupped Dean's face with her hands, 'as soon as I found out, I knew he'd set you up. Are you okay, darlin'?'

Dean shrugged. 'Yeah. Jo…looked after me…explained a few things.' He reached out and squeezed Jo's hand. 'If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't've got through that conversation with Alastair. Thank you.'

Ellen and Jo both hugged him and Dean soon found himself reclining comfortably on Ellen's bed, in between Ellen and Jo, drinking tea, eating apple pie and chatting comfortably with the two of them about con jobs, hustles, johns and their weird sexual kinks.

'I swear to God!' Ellen laughed, 'A custom made linen diaper! And all he wants to do is sit on my lap and suck his thumb.'

'Enoch Hudson?' Dean shook his head incredulously, 'Ward Boss of the North Ward? Goddamn! Are we blackmailing him too?'

'Hell yes. Why do you think Alastair is practically untouchable? He's got dirt on just about everyone. And Sugar? In this town, there's a lot of dirt.'

Dean woke up a few hours later to find that the sun was well up and he had been sleeping in Ellen's bed with Ellen herself on one side of him and Jo on the other. He looked from one to the other, smirked, then nearly hit the ceiling when Ellen, her eyes still closed, said: 'You wipe that smirk off your face, boy. And don't even think about sayin' what you're thinkin' right now or I'll wash your mouth out with soap.'

Dean laughed. 'Goddamn, you're scary!' He paused, 'Hey, Ellen?'

'Yes, Sugar?'

'This place…it's got your name. Harvelle's. But Alastair owns it.'

Ellen opened her eyes and stared at him.

'You ain't heard the story yet?'

Dean shook his head.

'I did own Harvelles. Me and my Bill owned it. We both grew up in the business and we wanted to run someplace classy; somewhere that treated its workers with respect. So we started this place. Then the Trinity moved into town. Alastair wanted to buy us out, but we wouldn't sell. So Alastair had my Bill killed. I can't prove it of course, but I know it in my bones.'

'I'm sorry,' Dean whispered.

Ellen smiled sadly and they lay in silence for a while.

'Ellen?'

'Yes, Hun?'

'Thank you. For last night. For just being there.'

Ellen patted his cheek.

'That's what family's for,' she said.

-X-

Jimmy's nose exploded under Dean's fist, and blood and sweat sprayed the air, staining hands and clothes, as Jimmy staggered and fell.

'Call me that again,' Dean demanded. 'Go on.'

'Phug,' said Jimmy, 'you browg by Goddamn dose!'

Dean pulled his knife out of his boot and held it against Jimmy's throat. 'You're damn lucky that's all I did. You call me that again and I will end you. We clear?'

Jimmy nodded frantically so Dean spat on him and left.

The last fortnight had been a nightmare. Since 'The Connolly Incident' (as Dean was euphemistically referring to it) Alastair had really turned up the heat, trying every trick in the book to bully Dean into his brothels. Even worse, news of The Incident had leaked to everyone who worked for the Unholy Trinity and Dean'd had to have over a dozen fist fights in the last week alone. If one more boy tauntingly called him a Molly, a pansy, a Mary Ann or a queer, Dean really was going to start knifing people. But even worse than that, Connolly had given a decent description of Dean to the police, identifying him as a young man who'd lost at poker and then been seen hanging around outside Connolly's room, no doubt planning to steal back the money he'd lost. They didn't have his real name, thank God, but there had been a good quality sketch of him done and it was inconvenient to say the least, that Dean had to keep his head down in public and try not to draw too much attention to himself. It was really messing with his ability to do his job and Alastair had actually had the audacity to try to convince Dean that he'd be safer in one of the brothels!

Dean hurried up the stairs to his room, taking them two at a time, eager to pour himself a drink or twelve and try to put the whole nightmare behind him for one more night. As soon as he closed the front door behind him he froze, realizing instinctively that there was someone in his room. Before he had time to do much more than get into a fighting stance, he was tackled from behind and he ducked and rolled, pulling his attacker down with him. Unfortunately his attacker was a good fighter and he used Dean's slightly bigger body mass to propel them forward so that Dean ended up flat on his back on the floor with his attacker sitting on top of him.

'Getting sloppy big brother,' Sammy grinned down at him.

Dean lifted his legs, wrapped them around Sammy's neck and flipped him over.

'Or not,' Sam muttered, staring up at Dean with a big grin on his face.

'Say uncle,' Dean demanded and he waited until Sam pounded the floor before getting to his feet and reaching a hand down to help his brother up.

'Sam?' said a female voice. Dean turned quickly and drank in the sight of the attractive blonde standing at the foot of the bed wearing a white, almost see-through, night-gown.

'Well hello, sweetheart,' he said.

'Dean,' Sam said seriously, 'I'd like you to meet my girlfriend Jessica. Jessica, this is my brother Dean.'

'You sly dog, Sammy,' Dean said out of the corner of his mouth. He turned back to Jessica. 'You are way outta my brother's league.'

Jessica blushed prettily.

'Well, it was nice meetin' you,' Dean's grin was slightly off, 'but, uh, I've just gotta borrow your boyfriend, talk about some family stuff, so if you'll excuse us for a moment?'

'No,' said Sam, going to Jessica and putting an arm around her, 'anything you have to say, you can say in front of Jess.'

Dean raised an eyebrow. 'Okay…while you were away, I did some work for Alastair…'

Sam's face hardened.

'Jessica,' he said, 'would you excuse us for a moment? We're just gonna go outside.'

They went up the stairs and onto the roof. It was a place they often went at night, somewhere they could sit and drink and look up at the stars, somewhere they could talk freely; somewhere they could enjoy just being brothers and forget about all the crap that life inevitably threw their way. Of course, this time they weren't there to forget.

'What the Hell, Dean?' Sam demanded as soon as they were seated in their usual spot, 'I go away for a few months and you decide to just bend over for Alastair?'

'No! Well…yes. I mean, not for Alastair, exactly. It's…okay…just shut up and listen, Sammy.'

Dean stared straight ahead and explained The Connolly Incident to Sam in a matter-of-fact tone. When he'd finished he steeled himself and turned to face his brother, expecting to find scorn, derision or disgust on the younger boy's face.

Instead he found that Sam was quietly crying.

'I am…so sorry,' he said, 'I should've been here for you. You shouldn't've had to go through that alone.'

'Oh God,' Dean grimaced, 'we're not gonna have to hug, are we?'

Sam laughed wetly and wiped at his face.

'I had Ellen and Jo,' Dean said, 'and they were probably a damn sight more practical use than you would've been.'

Sam sniffed.

'Yeah, you're right. Sorry. I just…I don't know what to say,' he cleared his throat, So I guess you're struggling to find jobs right now, what with the Wanted posters and all?'

Dean nodded.

'You and Dad still running the counterfeit bank note scams?'

Dean scowled.

'Azazel is not our father, Sam; don't call him that!'

Sam held his hands up, palms out. 'Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking that oughta buy you some time, ya know, before Alastair starts insisting…'

Dean nodded.

'What about you Sammy? What's the story with your girl?'

Sam's eyes went gooey.

'Soon as I'm old enough, I'm gonna marry that girl. She's…amazing,' he looked at Dean quickly, 'We met in Boston. I told her I was a teacher; that I was up in Boston doing some tutoring over the summer, but that I had a job in New York. I need you to help me keep that story believable until I can make it real.'

Dean gaped at him. 'What d'ya mean, until you can make it real?'

Sam grinned.

'I'm finished. Out. Me and Jess, we're gonna live a normal life. Get married, have kids, go legal.'

Dean stared at him.

'Are you insane? The Trinity isn't just gonna let you go!'

'Andy got out.'

Dean snorted. 'Andy moved to Australia. Do you wanna move to Australia?'

Sam shrugged. 'Not really. But we don't have to go that far, maybe just…back out West?'

Dean shook his head.

'Andy spent months planning his escape. You know that, right? We do this, it ain't gonna happen overnight. You're gonna have to keep workin' until then.'

Sam shook his head.

'I ain't workin', not Jobs, it ain't fair on Jess.'

Dean regarded him incredulously.

'What does Gordon think about all this?'

Sam shrugged. 'Gordon had some stuff he wanted to finish up by himself. I met Jess after we split.'

'And her folks had no problem with her packin' up and takin' off with a boy she'd just met?'

'Her parents are dead. Jess was livin' with her sister and her sister's husband. It was…awkward.'

Dean sighed. He stretched his legs out, tipped his head back to look up at the stars and really wished that he'd thought to grab the whiskey bottle before he and Sam had headed up here.

'You and Jess can have the bed,' he said finally, 'I'd offer to move out, but I really can't right now. Azazel's boys are all givin' me a hard time so I don't wanna crash in their digs; and the only other alternative would be Ellen's. And with Alastair ridin' me so hard about goin' to work for him, Harvelle's is the last place I wanna be sleepin'. So,' he gave Sam a hard look, 'you remember what the sock's for, right? Cuz, dude, I don't wanna see it or hear it.'

Sam blushed, which made Dean grin. It was good having his brother back, even if he had just turned their world on its head. But if Sam wanted normal, then maybe it was time to get out of New York. They'd spent the first two years that they'd been in the city covertly trying to find their Dad. They had never given The Trinity their last name, had never mentioned their Dad to Azazel, Gordon or Alastair, but they'd nosed around New York's underworld pretty extensively. They had never enquired with the police, because right from the beginning of their time in the city they'd been committing crimes and they were too damn scared to go anywhere near the forces of law and order. But they had checked out the cemetery and whenever they got an opportunity to talk to someone who'd been in the Tombs they had given that person their Dad's first name and description, just in case, but they had never managed to pick up any hint of John Winchester's trail here in New York. The last few years they'd just been treading water, doing what they had to do to survive, with no real plans for the future. Maybe now was the right time to take stock and to decide what they really wanted. Maybe Sam was right; maybe they should just pack up, head out west and start again. Maybe it was time to accept that they were never going to find their father and to move on with their own lives.

Dean turned back to his brother.

'You want normal, Sammy, then I'll back your play. We'll figure it out somehow.'

The grateful smile on Sam's face? That was all Dean needed to feel content.

-X-

Sam had never been so happy. Dean had helped him to mock up some papers that said he'd matriculated from school and had experience pupil teaching out west. With those, he'd managed to get a job at the local mission school teaching the smallest children their ABCs. He was still working for Gordon; had accepted that he couldn't get completely out without some long term planning; but he had given up his second-in-command role and stepped back, explaining that he had his girl to think about now and that soon enough she'd be his wife and they'd have children; that he wanted to give them a safe, normal life. Gordon hadn't been pleased, but he'd been surprisingly accommodating and Sam was far too happy; far too deeply in love with Jessica; to be suspicious.

Fortunately, Dean was suspicious enough for the both of them. He was watching Gordon like a hawk as well as keeping his ear to the ground and he'd heard enough whispers to know that Gordon was pretty pissed at Sam. But try as he might, Dean couldn't burst Sam's happy bubble; his baby brother just didn't want to know. Sam was chasing after normal with willful determination and seemed hell bent on turning a blind eye to any suggestion that the Job might be going to interfere with his happily ever after.

Dean hadn't been able to work any cons or hustles since Wanted posters of him started appearing all over town, and the counterfeiting scams had to be spaced out, the fake notes used sparingly, or the Secret Service was likely to descend, so his ability to earn had been a little thin. One of the upsides to Sam stepping back was that Gordon frequently needed extra assistance, and a job that was done in the dark, where it was imperative that no-one see you, was exactly what Dean needed, so he stepped up to fill the breach left by his baby brother. Gordon was surprisingly good company and the more Dean worked with him, the less he hated him. He didn't trust him, not by a long shot, but Dean learned a lot from Gordon over the months that followed and they established an uneasy camaraderie.

Sam was astonished by how easy it was to keep Jessica in the dark about his past. She loved him, trusted him, and she didn't ask questions. She'd obviously worked out for herself that he'd had a rough upbringing, but that was hardly unusual. The war had created a lot of orphans and a lot of poverty, and there were thousands of neglected and abandoned children roaming the city's streets; homeless, destitute street urchins, doing whatever it took to keep body and soul together. Jessica didn't ask about Sam's past because she didn't care what he'd had to do to survive. Her boyfriend was a good man, he had provided her with a nice home, he had a teaching job, just as he'd said he did, and he and his brother between them brought in enough money to keep them comfortable. And if Sam occasionally went out drinking with his brother, if he occasionally came home with cuts and bruises because he and Dean had gotten into a bar fight, well he was no worse than a lot of other men. Jessica knew that Sam could be violent, had seen the rage within him bubble close to the surface from time to time, but he was never forceful with her, never anything but loving and tender.

Sam was in love, he was happy, life was good.

'Sam,' Dean's voice, barely more than a whisper, jolted the younger Winchester from his sleep.

'What?' he grumbled.

'Azazel sent me to get you,' Dean said quietly. 'We're on red alert, dude. All hands on deck.'

Sam rubbed at his eyes and sat up.

'Dead Rabbits?'

Dean's shrug was barely visible in the dark.

'Dunno. I just got back from a Job with Gordon. Azazel just said it was a red alert and I needed to come get you.'

'Sam?' Jessica stirred beside him.

'Shh. Just gotta go help my brother with something. I'll be back soon.'

'But it's the middle of the night!' Jess protested sleepily, 'and you've got work in the morning.'

'It's okay,' Sam reassured her.

'I'll be waitin' outside,' Dean said, and backed away.

Sam kissed Jessica, stroked her hair softly and murmured sweet nothings in her ear, promising her that everything would be okay.

'But what's wrong?' she persisted, 'why do you have to take off with your brother in the middle of the night?'

Sam sighed.

'There's this guy, Jess, he practically raised me and Dean. He's in some trouble and I've gotta go and help him.'

Jessica frowned. 'Trouble? What kind of trouble? Are you gonna be in danger?'

'No,' Sam kissed her and smoothed her hair again, 'no baby. He's just holed up in a saloon with his best buddy Old Jake Beam and we just need to get him home before he takes a swing at the wrong guy. I promise Jess, everything's gonna be okay. You just go back to sleep.'

Jess kissed him back and then nuzzled against his throat.

'You be careful. Alright?' she said sternly.

Sam sighed contently against her hair.

'What would I do without you, Jess?'

Jessica grinned. 'Crash and burn,' she said.

-X-

Sam slipped quietly into the abandoned warehouse and pulled up short when his brother stopped suddenly in front of him.

'Are we in the right place?' Sam breathed into his brother's ear.

'Yeah.'

Ice crept up Sam's spine.

'Huh,' he said, 'Guess nobody else got the red alert memo.'

Dean held up a finger for silence.

'Over there,' he murmured, 'by the rear door.'

Sam caught a glint of movement in the shadows opposite them just as a couple of Gordon's men burst abruptly through the door behind them and grabbed them, pinning their arms tightly behind their backs.

'Hey!' Dean shouted as they were hustled towards Gordon and Azazel, who had emerged from the shadows and now stood looming over them.

'Thank you for joining us,' Azazel said gravely.

'What the hell, Azazel?' Dean spat.

'What's going on?' Sam asked softly.

Azazel stared at Sam, his eyes cold. 'I have plans for you, son,' he said. 'You're a special breed and I didn't invest my time and effort; Gordon didn't invest his time and effort; training you up, just so you could go soft, refuse your inheritance and play house with your girl. She's no good for you, Sammy boy. She has to go.'

'No,' Sam snarled. 'You don't get it. I love Jessica. I want to marry her. I want out.'

Azazel laughed and it was the single most frightening thing that Sam had heard in a long while.

'No, Sam,' he said. 'You don't get it. The Trinity owns you; body, mind and soul. You don't get to leave; there is no out. You're only commitment is to us—you get to honor and obey us, 'til death do us part. And your girl? Jessica, is it? She has to go.'

Sam stared at him uncomprehendingly and then he heard the loud clanging bells of the fire wagons and the squealing whine of the hand-cranked fire sirens. Dean watched as horrified comprehension filled his brother's face.

'No,' Sam whispered, 'NOOOO,' he screamed. He spun quickly and took out one of Gordon's men and Dean followed his brother's lead and punched his way through the other one just as quickly.

Sam ran through the dark, smoke-filled streets praying a silent litany in time with the beat of his feet: 'Please, God, please God, please God…'

There were three fire crews fighting for the right to put the fire out; in the meantime it raged out of control and leapt from Sam and Dean's building to the one next door. Looters were already smashing their way into the building and making off with whatever they could grab and in the chaos the boys were able to bypass the firemen and fight their way into the building. It soon became apparent that their room had been at the epicenter of the blaze and there was too much heat for them to get inside. That didn't stop Sam from trying though. He threw himself repeatedly at the roaring wall of flame, shielding his face from the heat and shrugging off Dean's attempts to hold him back. But each time, the intense heat forced him to back off, cursing, begging, and crying, desperate to get to Jessica but completely unable to do so. Eventually he collapsed to the floor, moaning Jessica's name and Dean had to pick him up and carry him bodily outside.

'She's d-dead,' he stuttered, his body shaking with grief, 'Th-They d-did this and it's m-m-y f-f-ault. If I hadn't b-brought her here…I k-k-killed her, Dean. I killed Jess.'

Dean half dragged, half pushed his numb, stumbling brother away from the crime scene and down the road to a squalid squat that was frequented by a lot of the unaffiliated street urchins. He propped Sam in a corner, told him to stay put and then headed back to the scene to see what he could find out. He stood at the back of the crowd of onlookers and watched as a charred body was pulled from the house. A murmur spread back through the crowd that there had been a knife sticking out of the body; that it had been a murder. Dean stayed until the police arrived, hovering on the periphery of conversations, trying to pick up whatever gossip he could. When the police started to move among the crowd, asking questions about the room's tenants, asking if anyone knew them, as they were the prime suspects, Dean slipped quietly away and headed slowly back to the squat where he'd left Sam.

Christ, what a mess. The Trinity had killed Jessica in order to pull Sam back into the game and they'd done it in such a way that he and Sam would become the prime suspects in her murder. If they wanted to avoid the drop they were going to need the Trinity's protection, which meant they had no choice now but to go back into the fold, to accept that they were owned, that they had no choice but to obey. Dean rubbed a tired hand across his eyes, convinced that things couldn't get any worse.

He was wrong.

-X-

Sam drew up his knees, wrapped his arms tightly around them and began to rock back and forth as his grief tore itself from his throat in guttural, primal sobs. His beautiful girl; his Jessica; was gone. Part of him didn't believe it; part of him was convinced that it was all some sick joke; that he was going to wake up any minute now and find that it was all a nightmare.

But those flames had been all too real and Sam knew, knew, that this was really happening. His Jessica was gone. They'd killed her. And it was his fault. He'd been so desperate for normal that he'd forgotten how dangerous his world really was. He'd dragged Jess—innocent, loving Jess—into his world and then he'd failed to protect her from it. The pain…the guilt…Sam couldn't stand it; couldn't stand to be in his own skin knowing that he should've seen this coming, should've kept her safe. His chest heaved and ached, and he felt light-headed and panicky; as though he were choking or drowning. Despair was welling up from deep inside him and threatening to overwhelm his body. It was about to render him useless and that…no…he had to rein in the despair, channel it; use it. He couldn't afford any emotions that would make him weak; he needed strength now. The strength to do what needed to be done. It was his fault that Jessica was dead; she'd been killed because of him, and he deserved…needed to be punished for that.

But he hadn't been the one to light the match. Sam wiped at his tears, lungs working overtime as he slowly regained control. Azazel. The aching hole in Sam's heart blazed with hatred; it burnt bright and fierce and scorched away all the misery and despair. Azazel had done this. He'd given the order. Sam staggered to his feet, his face twisted with rage, as it became clear to him just what he had to do to atone for Jessica's death.

'You're a dead man, Dad,' he muttered, 'a fuckin' dead man.'

-X-

When Dean got back to the squat, the corner where he'd left Sam was empty.

'Hey kid?' he spoke to the nearest urchin, 'the guy I left here? Where'd he go?'

The kid shrugged. 'He was cryin' and talkin' to himself. Said somethin' about his Dad bein' a dead man.'

Dean bit back a curse. Leaving Sam alone had been a mistake, but he hadn't had much of a choice; he couldn't have taken him to the crime scene and he'd thought…hoped…that Sam would wait for him, that they would work together; decide together what they would do next. But no, Sam had to go off half-cocked. Dean could just imagine his little brother, crazed with grief, going straight for Azazel's throat, like a pitt bull off-leash. And that? No way that ended well. Dean ran, his own panic setting in as he realizing just what serious trouble his brother was headed for. He bounded up the stairs at Azazel's digs, his foot going through a couple of rotted boards and cutting his leg, but he didn't care, he had to get to Sammy before the kid did something stupid.

He was too late. Sam was curled on the floor and Gordon and several of his men were beating the living daylights out of him, feet and fists flying as they kicked him and punched him, while Azazel sat back and watched, sipping from his silver flask as Sam groaned and whimpered and tried to cover his head.

'No!' Dean roared. He plunged in recklessly, throwing himself into the ecstasy of violence with willful abandon. One of Gordon's henchmen turned on him, slamming a meaty fist into Dean's head and knocking him viciously to the floor. Dean shook himself, dazed and then his eyes focused on the large bowie knife that the henchman was brandishing at him.

'Stay out of it,' he snarled. 'This ain't a fight. It's a punishment. Azazel ordered it.'

Dean choked off a sob and crawled to Azazel, throwing himself at the man's feet. 'Please,' he begged, 'please. Stop this. I'll talk to him. Get him under control.'

Azazel shook his head. 'It's too late now. He tried to kill me. Jessica's death seems to have pushed him over the edge. It's regrettable and not at all how I wanted this to go, but…he's become too dangerous for us to let him live.'

'Please! Please!' Dean was openly sobbing now, grasping at Azazel's leg as he begged shamelessly for his brother's life. Azazel pushed him roughly away, sending Dean sprawling face first onto the dirty, wooden floor. Dean dragged himself to his feet immediately. This couldn't be it. There had to be something he could do. This was Sammy; his baby brother. It was his job to look out for him. He could run back in there, run onto that bastard's knife and they could die together or…or…

Dean turned and ran. He didn't stop running until he got to Harvelle's Whorehouse, going in the employee's entrance and sprinting up the back stairs towards the area where Alastair kept an office.

'Where's Alastair?' he demanded of the guy guarding the door, 'Is he in there?'

The guy nodded.

'Tell him Dean needs to see him. Tell him it's urgent.'

Far too many moments later Dean was ushered into Alastair's office.

'Well, well,' Alastair said, 'to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?'

'I wanna make a deal,' Dean blurted out, cutting off Alastair's cordial greeting. 'Azazel and Gordon, they're killing my brother, right now. You can stop it; you're the only one they'll listen to. You stop it and I…I'll do whatever you want.'

Alastair steepled his hands on the desk in front of him and watched Dean lazily, a lion sizing up his prey.

'Well now,' he said, the brightness of his eyes betraying his sleepy tone, 'that is interesting.'

'Please,' Dean begged, 'They're at Azazel's place, you have to hurry.'

Alastair picked up his quill, dipped it in the ink well and then hastily scribbled something on a piece of paper. He folded it, placed his seal across the fold and then rang a bell. 'Take this to Azazel's place,' he said to the men who arrived, 'give it to Azazel. Hurry.'

Alastair reached into his desk drawer and took out another piece of paper, this one with writing on it. He quickly penned a couple of additional lines at the bottom of the page, signed his name with a flourish and then passed the paper to Dean.

'What's this?' Dean asked.

'It's your contract.'

Alastair watched as Dean slowly read through it, becoming progressively paler as he did. Alastair rather liked pale on the boy, it made his freckles stand out and his eyes seem even greener.

Eventually the boy raised fear-filled eyes and stared at Alastair. Alastair licked his lips.

'I…you put here that the contract is null and void if Sammy dies?'

Alastair nodded. 'Unless it's by his own hand. On the flipside, if you try to get out of your contract, I'll let Azazel and Gordon finish what they started.'

Dean swallowed visibly.

'You want me to call my men back?' Alastair offered, 'tear up that contract?'

'No! Can I…can I say good bye to Sammy? Before I…?'

'Of course. I'll have two of my men escort you.'

Dean nodded, and then picked up the quill with shaking fingers and dipped it in the ink well. He signed his name and then slid the contract back across the desk to Alastair. Alastair grinned and pulled Dean to him. He fisted his hands in Dean's hair and kissed him hard, his tongue forcefully demanding entry and his lips bruising. Dean was pliant in his arms, allowing Alastair the access he demanded without a fight. Alastair plundered his mouth ruthlessly, trying to provoke some sort of response, but Dean remained passively compliant. Alastair liked complete submission, he really did, but he would've preferred more of a response from Dean, even one of horror and revulsion. Still, there was plenty of time for that; he was sure he'd pull some nice responses from Dean eventually. Alastair pulled away from the boy with a final bite at his lower lip and shook his head at Dean's carefully blank expression. 'Sealed with a kiss,' he smirked.

He sat down and returned to his paperwork.

'Sit down, Dean.'

Dean did as he was told and watched with growing irritation as Alastair started on his paperwork again.

Sometime later, there was a knock at the door and at Alastair's bidding the two men who he'd sent out earlier came in.

'Took him to Doc Rodgers,' one of them said gruffly, 'Kid ain't good, boss. He took one hell of a beatin', but Doc thinks he'll make it.

'Take my new apprentice to say goodbye to his brother,' Alastair said, 'and then escort him to the Hellfire Club. I'll meet you there later, Dean,' he smirked again, 'and show you the ropes, so to speak.'

-X-

Sam was a mess of bloody bandages and bruises when Dean finally saw him. He was lying on a small cot in a tiny room in the private section of Harvelle's and despite his gray pallor he looked up and smiled when Dean entered the room. Dean's escorts stood outside the door and waited while Dean went and sat tentatively on the edge of his brother's bed and tried to mentally prepare himself for the most difficult conversation of his life.

'How ya feelin' Sammy?' he asked.

'Been better.' Sam reached out and took his brother's hand. 'Dean…what did you do?' Dean tried not to react to the tremble in his brother's voice. 'I mean, Azazel and Gordon, they were gonna kill me. Then you ran in, ran out, and the next thing I know a couple of Alastair's guys are bringin' me here.'

Dean drew his thumb back and forth across the back of his brother's hand. He was warm, he had a heart beat and, okay, in a minute he was going to be really pissed at Dean, but at least he was alive to be pissed, and that was all that mattered really.

'Dean?' Sam said sharply, 'Please tell me you didn't make a deal with Alastair?'

Dean stared into his brother's eyes and then lowered his head.

'They were gonna kill you, Sammy,' he whispered, 'I couldn't…I couldn't let that happen.'

Sam gripped his brother's hand tighter. 'Which House?' he demanded.

Dean took a deep breath; tried to stay calm.

'The Hellfire Club.'

Sam made a small pained noise and gripped Dean's hand so tightly that it hurt.

'Are you indentured? Locked in?'

Dean nodded.

'How long?' Sam spat.

'Five years,' Dean said softly.

'Five? Fuck, Dean! You'll be dead in three! How do we get you out of this?'

'We don't!' Dean said sharply, 'Me seein' out my contract is your protection. We try to get me outta this, you die.'

'What's to stop them quietly killin' me now that they've got what they want?'

'If you die, my contract becomes null and void.'

Sam stared stonily at his brother. 'Well that's easy then.'

'No!' Dean barked, 'Killin' yourself doesn't count; that won't void my contract. Besides, I'm gonna need you when I get out,' Dean reached out and stroked a shaky hand through Sam's hair, 'Also…you've gotta promise me that you won't try to go after the Trinity. Cuz if you try, they're gonna take it out on me. You understand?'

Before Sam could respond the door opened and one of Alastair's men stuck his head in the room.

'Time's up,' he said.

Sam bit back a sob and pulled Dean to him, hugging him hard and begging him not to leave him alone. Eventually Alastair's men simply took hold of Dean and dragged him from the room. Their grips bruised his arms and their fingernails cut at him like claws, and he cried and struggled, but they didn't care. Sam screamed for his brother, his voice hoarse and broken. The whorehouse doctor tried to physically restrain him, but Sam fought so hard that the doctor finally just jabbed a needle into his arm, sedating him.

Dean staggered to the Hellfire Club in a daze, his eyes blank, and his brain struggling to keep up with everything that was going on. He didn't come back to himself until he was pushed through a heavy wooden door and into a room that looked like some sort of medieval torture chamber. There was a huge A-Frame in the middle of the room and a wide variety of whips, paddles and floggers were hanging from the walls. There were boxes and trays scattered around the place too, filled with all sorts of nasty looking implements that Dean didn't even want to think about.

Without a word, Dean's escorts tore off his clothes and then tied him so tightly to the A-Frame that he couldn't move. And then they left, leaving him all alone, naked, bound and vulnerable. Dean's terrified eyes darted around the room and he was finally unable to contain his shock and terror a moment longer.

'Sam!' he sobbed, 'Sammy!'