A/N: Bela has offered to take Dean home to Lawren. But since when have we trusted Bela?

Bought And Sold (Chapter 6: Bags Packed And Ready To Go) by frostygossamer

Excited about the prospect of seeing his father and brother again, Dean hastily packed his few things into a small duffle. He caught up with Bela outside the refuge, where she was waiting by her sedan, arms folded.

"Not bringing the little one?" she casually asked, observing Dean's one small bag.

"Nah," replied Dean, jumping in the passenger seat. "Gonna leave him here with his Uncle Bobby till I see Dad. Can't wait to see the old man's face when I tell him he's a grandpa. He's gonna be stoked."

Bela chuckled. "Well, at least we know where to find the little cherub," she remarked, darkly.

Dean, too excited to listen properly, completely missed the tone of that comment.

"Maybe we shoulda sent Dad a telegram?" Dean suggested, as they pulled away. "Let him know we're coming?"

"No need," replied Bela. "We'll be there by nightfall. We're taking the train. You'll sleep in your old bed tonight."

"Awesome," Dean agreed, he wasn't about to question his good luck. The poor boy suspected nothing.

Bela drove them to the station and parked the car. They had only a few minutes to wait for the train. When it arrived they got themselves comfortable, Bela letting Dean sit beside the window. Dean was full of excitement, grinning out the window at the passing scenery.

After a few minutes, Bela took an elegant silver liquor flask from her purse. She made as if to drink from it, but stopped before it touched her lips.

"Here," she said nonchalantly, offering it to Dean. "Take a sip of this. It'll calm you down."

Dean took the flask and smiled widely. "Here's to family reunions," he said, and took a swig.

Five minutes later he was out for the count.

A couple stops farther on, Bela alighted from the train and shook the hand of another woman who was waiting on the platform. The short, dark, dapper woman was dressed all in black and wore mirrored sunglasses. In her purse she carried a Berretta pistol, in her garter a switchblade.

"He's all yours, Meg," Bela told her. "I expect you'll be taking SPECIAL care of him."

"Oh, don't you worry, sugarplum," Meg replied, with a lazy smirk. "I'll be taking real GOOD care of the darling boy."

Meg climbed aboard the train and sat herself down in the seat lately vacated by Bela. The seat right next to the comatose Dean. She smiled to herself. Dean was now her charge, and she intended to dispose of him in the usual way... permanently. She fingered the knife in her garter.

When the train pulled in to Lawren, Dean was no longer aboard.

~o~

Bobby tried not to let his imagination run away with him when he realized that a week had passed without any word from Dean. Lawren was a long way away and sometimes the refuge's mail got... diverted. Still, he had expected Dean to get back to him about Samuel as soon as he had gotten home. If he had ever gotten home.

As the days passed, Bobby had to finally admit to himself that maybe there was a reason he hadn't heard from Dean. Maybe Dean was... Well, Bobby didn't want to think the worst but he was damned if he trusted that woman Bela. He had run across women like that before. Heartless.

He told himself to wait a while before jumping to any hasty conclusions. That was until the morning Adam came running back from the market, out of breath and gabbling.

Young Adam had been a great help to Bobby in the years since the old guy had taken him in. Blossoming from a frightened kid to a confident young adult, he had gradually taken on some of Bobby's minor responsibilities at the refuge. One of these was collecting their regular order of baby formula from the local market. Adam had stepped out that morning to do that very run.

Bobby hadn't expected him back so soon, so he was concerned when he heard his signature knock at the door and opened right up. Adam rushed past him looking rattled and panting hard.

"Adam?! What's going on?" demanded Bobby, a little alarmed.

Adam took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Couple dames," he gasped. "Couple dames grabbed me outside the market."

"Couple dames?" repeated Bobby, raising his eyebrows. "What 'couple dames'?"

"Dunno," answered Adam, shaking his head. "Just... One of them was real scary. Black suit. Cop shades. They wanned to know about Samuel."

"Samuel?!" Bobby snapped, now having good reason to be alarmed. "What would they wanna know 'bout the kid?"

Adam exhaled noisily. "They just wanned to know if Dean's kid was here. They said they might be gonna come by, pick him up. Sometime soon. Take him to Dean."

Bobby's expression turned angry. "Like hell they will," he growled. "Not gonna hand that boy over to anyone I don't goddamn know. What'd you say?"

Adam shook his head. "Not word one about Samuel," he swore. "Told 'em they'd gotten the wrong guy. Didn't know any Dean. Didn't know any kid."

Bobby nodded and patted him on the shoulder. "Good work, son," he said.

Adam sighed, touching his scarred cheek.

"For one freakin' minute I was sure my mom had sent 'em. To drag me back home and..."

No wonder he was shaken. Even after so long he was still scared of his mom, the hateful woman who had given him that scar. Bobby felt sorry for the poor kid.

"C'mon, son. Fix ya a nice cuppa tea to settle your nerves. The kettle's boiled."

As he led Adam into the warm kitchen, a plan was already forming in Bobby's mind. He needed to get little Samuel somewhere safe damn soon. Somewhere out of the reach of whoever the hell these women were who had taken his daddy.
~o~

Next day, Bobby sent off a coded telegram to his cousins in the country. His late aunt had owned a small truck farm miles from anyplace. When she died, it had passed to her daughter Karen. Cousin Karen was one of the few women Bobby trusted. She and her hubby had a passel of kids, some her own and some orphans she had taken in to help work the farm. One more wouldn't be noticed. He knew she would be willing to take in little Samuel and keep him safe. The sooner the boy was out of the city the better.

A week later Bobby drove out to the farm and dropped Samuel off.

"OK, Samuel. So this is gonna be your home for a while," he told the boy. "Nice Aunt Karen's gonna take care of ya."

The boy beamed up at him, not entirely sure what was going on.

Karen stepped forward and gave the little mite a warm hug.

"You like cookies, Samuel?" she asked him, with a big smile. "I've chocolate-chip cookies straight outta the oven on my kitchen table. Run on inside and help yourself."

Samuel grinned and, with one last glance at Bobby, trotted indoors.

"So you're OK with this?" asked Bobby.

"Sure," answered his cousin, pecking him on the cheek. "He'll fit right in. Doncha worry."

Bobby turned and got back in his truck.

"If you can sent us an update once in a while?" he suggested. "Along with the turnips."

Karen's little farm supplied the refuge with the odd crate of root vegetables, when they could spare it.

Karen nodded, then had a thought. "His daddy...?" she queried.

Bobby sighed gravely. "Karen, I just don't know," he admitted.

He started the truck and drove away, back to town. Something made him feel Karen's question might never get an answer.

~o~

Four years at Lawren High School, answering to the name Samantha, using his dad's maiden name Winchester, and dressing in skirts and pigtails, had been a trial for Dean's kid brother Sam. But not as much of a trial as parting with his beloved books would have been. His dad had laid out the choices: girl meant school, boy meant no school. Sam had gone with school.

Attending classes in disguise meant Sam never socialized, never played any sports, never took part in any activities, never made any friends, all too risky. It was a lonely few years, but Sam gradually came to realized that, for him, school was about something more important than merely filling his head with knowledge. It was about achieving something no male had done before. Getting an education. If he had to remain a 'girl' his whole life, it would be worth it, some day.

Sam had to get used to, the mostly thoughtless but nonetheless hurtful, jokes of his unwitting high-school fellows as he gradually filled out and sprouted, his inappropriate male hormones playing havoc with his body. Luckily for him, girls with unfortunate hormonal imbalance problems were not completely unheard of. John had been able to pass off his exceptionally tall daughter as an isolated freak of nature, upsetting though it was to Sam to be called a freak.

Eventually he turned eighteen and graduated high school with his hard-won diploma, as Missouri Mosley had predicted. Suddenly it all seemed worthwhile. John was quietly delighted. University beckoned.

"I'm too damn tall, and I feel like a fool," Sam griped, as he stood in John's parlour wearing a shapeless gray dress and a pair of high-heels, which once belonged to his late mother.

John was on his hands and knees, letting down the hem to allow for his son's ridiculous height. He chuckled, his mouth full of pins. He had to admit that his youngest did look a little gawky, actually a lot gawky, with his long hair in curlers and his under things stuffed with padding.

"You look fine," he insisted, utilizing the last pin. "Not all females are beautiful, son. Some women are goddamn plain. You'll pass."

Sam grinned sheepishly. "Least I'm not gonna attract any unwanted admirers," he joshed.

"Jeez, I'd damn well hope not," his father agreed, laughing as he stood up and stretched. "But, seriously, give up any thoughts of romance, ya hear?"

Sam nodded. "My mind's gonna be strictly on my books. Don't you worry, Dad."

Sam's bags were packed and ready to go on the first bus to the city the next morning. Sam would be leaving after John had already headed out for the sweatshop, so he wouldn't get to wave his son goodbye.

"Good luck, Sam," he said, giving his boy one final fatherly hug. "Work hard and be a credit to your old dad."

Sam nodded tearfully. "I will," he swore. "I'll make you proud. And I hope I'll make Dean proud too."

John felt a tear well up at the mention of his eldest son. He hadn't heard a word from him in so many years. John had tried to get in touch with Dean to tell him Sam's news. But the 'GoodBoy' agency had informed him, rather stiffly, that the family Dean had been placed with as a servant forbade any home contact. Well, John had taken their money, what could he do? He only hoped, wherever Dean was, he was doing OK.

"Know you will, Sam," he murmured. "I know you will."

"Samantha, Dad," Sam reminded him. "Sam Campbell was a poor kid with no future. I'm Samantha Winchester from now on. And Samantha is going places."

Turning away from his son, John muffled a cough with his elbow. Sam didn't need to know about his dad's deteriorating health, not at such a special moment. Hospital not being an option, John could only hope he would live to see 'Samantha Winchester' graduate.

As it happened, he didn't.

TBC

A/N: Everybody's going places. More soon.