Sorry about the slight delay. I had intended to upload it yesterday, but ending up making some tedious, last minute changes. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.

XxXxxxXxX

For now, I'd play it safe. Dean was a great guy, and I really did like him but, if he started to hate me because of something I could have avoided saying…I'd never forgive myself. "I don't, uh…There's really nothing interesting about me."

"Ah, come on, you can think of something."

In all honesty, I wasn't interesting. In fact, I was probably the most boring person in existence. Sometimes I didn't even know how Greg could stand being around me. He was always so happy and animated, but I could never share his enthusiasm. It was like there was always a weight pulling me down, and it took all my strength just to stay standing.

"Greg's been my best friend for four years." I'd determined there was nothing interesting about me, but I could talk about Greg all day. "He's twenty-two and two hundred thirty pounds of pure muscle." I chuckled lightly to myself. "He is strong as hell, but he never uses it unless it's to protect someone he loves." I was an exception. When we first met, we were complete strangers, yet, he endangered his own life…just to save me.

At the time, I'd been walking home from giving another blowjob. I ran into a group of guys who started harassing me, and were so drunk they mistook me for a girl. They kept pulling at my "skirt"—which was actually a pair of jeans—and Greg suddenly showed up. He was like a hurricane, violent and tempestuous, and yanked them off me, throwing punches with such tremendous strength I couldn't help but be mesmerized.

When all five of them were knocked unconscious, Greg had knelt down beside me, holding out a hand that was nearly the size of my head. His eyes were staring intensely into my own, and his voice was sweet like honey. The first words he ever spoke to me were said with both concern and passion. He had the smallest of smiles on his face, and I remember my bewilderment at being faced with such a gentle nature, completely opposite to the furious rage I'd just witnessed.

His hand had landed pacifyingly on my hair. "Wow, no wonder they were after you. You're a real beauty, you know that?"

Only a few months later, we'd met as employees at The Ramrod. He'd joined a week before I showed up, and ever since I walked into that door looking for a job he's been my friend and confidant. He took me under his wing, and vigilantly watched over me as I dealt with the horrors that came with working in a gay strip club. He was as overprotective then as now, and has beaten up numerous customers over the years solely for my sake.

I've always been independent but, when I couldn't do something on my own, the only person I went to was Greg.

I looked up from my gaze at the table, and Dean was staring at me with a completely entranced expression, visibly absorbed. It was then I realized I'd spoken my thoughts aloud. My cheeks tinted horribly, and I let my bangs fall into my face.

"Ha ha…" I chuckled awkwardly. "Oops. Didn't, uh, didn't really mean to say that out loud."

There was silence for a moment, like Dean was trying to force himself out of his fixated state. I peeked at him through my bangs, and Dean became fully animated again, shaking his head in refuse like a frantic dog. "No, Sammy, no; I like to hear about your life. I want to know more about you, so, so please…" It was Dean's cheeks that turned red this time. "Tell me more."

Other than Greg, and maybe-possibly Barney the bartender, no existing person in this world ever showed genuine concern toward my well-being. Sure, they hoped I wouldn't die so they'd have a chance to do me, but that could hardly be classified as sincere concern. I had convinced myself that each individual was predestined only so many friends, and I, the sorriest of them all, was only allowed one.

But, maybe I was wrong?

I twirled some of my salad around on my fork, and tentatively said, "Well…I had a little brother."

I could tell it took Dean a second to notice the past tense, and his face immediately fell. "What, uh, what happened to him?"

I kept my gaze down. "He was nine when he and my father were killed in a car accident." I was eleven.

Dean's expression only grew sadder. "I'm sorry."

I didn't mention anything about my mother, but the tense silence hinted something fatal that I knew I couldn't put into words. I felt Dean's probing, curious eyes and ignored them. He wanted to know, but was too considerate to bluntly ask. I wasn't ready to explain that one yet, wasn't ready to admit she had slit her own wrists with the kitchen knife a year after my father and brother died.

That had been the real turning point in my life. Once she was dead, everything had changed. I didn't have to care for a psychotic mother, but I still had to care for myself. I unsuccessfully searched for a local business to hire me, and lived day-by-day with meager portions and tattered clothing. Each employer I talked to said I was too young and inexperienced to work. I begged and pleaded, even gave more blowjobs just so they would hire me.

But I was fooled and, after long weeks of futility, I finally found my own job. I threw away my pride, and began whoring myself out to the sleaziest perverts I could find. My mother's death had begun the worst period of my life.

And it's yet to end.

Dean wanted to know more about my life but, something told me that wasn't one of the key points he'd be searching for.

Thankfully, the silence was broken by John, who visibly removed himself from his thoughts to turn his gaze toward me. The clarity in his eyes was a sharp contrast to the moments-ago dazed look.

"I have a question for you," John said, bluntly continuing. "Is your last name Martin?"

I blinked. "Yeah…"

He took a deep breath. "Did a man named Daryl Woods ever…rape you?"

My mouth went dry, and I could only stare, dumbfounded. How did he…?

Dean punched John's shoulder fiercely, eyes burning. "What the fuck, Dad?"

John's gaze didn't leave mine as he addressed Dean. "This is important to the investigation, son." Now he spoke to me. "Sam, is it safe for me to assume your silence is a 'yes'?"

I swallowed convulsively, barely nodding.

"Okay," John said. "Tell us everything that happened."

My mouth fell open, and I was about to get out of the booth and leave when Dean's hand reached across the table. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, lightly keeping me in place.

"Dad…" he said, but his gaze was only on me. "Maybe I should do the talking."

John's eyes flew to Dean's in surprise, and even my now slightly muddled mind could see the barely concealed anger in his expression, as though his actions had never been questioned until now.

After only obstinate silence from Dean, John reluctantly nodded, holding his hands out to Dean, like saying it's all yours.

Dean took a deep breath, and his green eyes bored into my own. "Sammy, I know it's hard, but…this can really help our investigation. People could stop dying. So…" he licked his lips. "Can you please tell us what happened?"

He was basically asking the same thing John had been, but…but somehow I was more willing now. Maybe the father had just spoken so brusquely about it, like it wasn't a tragedy, but a piece of evidence he needed to solve his mystery. I didn't like people pitying me, but I didn't appreciate being treated as a tool like with my customers; I wanted to be genuinely needed.

I licked my lips, silent. Daryl Woods was a man I had tried so many years to forget. He was the one that took my virginity five years ago. I'd been twelve at the time, and I could still remember listening to the haughty adults whispering about the scandal, immersing themselves in the newly discovered drama. The rumors spread like a virus through the town, and I remember picking up a local newspaper with my face and Daryl's on the front page. "Child found naked and battered behind a local gas station, tested positive for rape." After reading that, I had barely made it to a trashcan before emptying my stomach. To realize my horror story had been publicized…

And I'd known who was the cause of it, too.

But I couldn't blame her too much for it. Around that time, my mother had been severely mentally ill, suffering from chronic depression and so many other things I couldn't understand. I'd convinced myself she didn't know what she was doing, that she didn't know what kind of effect it'd have on me…

"Uh…" I began dumbly. "Well, first of all, this was a really long time ago. Five years ago."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

A moment passed, then Dean exclaimed. "What the hell? You're seventeen?"

I cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the outcry.

"Holy fuck," Dean continued, and John put a strong hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Pull yourself together, Dean; we're on the job."

I watched Dean forcibly control himself. "I'm…I…fuck." He took a breath. "Sorry."

I nodded, though I didn't think he had a reason to apologize. I continued my story. "I was walking home late at night after," I stopped. "Things..." I hadn't begun genuinely whoring myself out until I was thirteen, after my mother's death, but I still gave guys blowjobs. Once my dad and brother died, Mother lost the ability to work, and it was up to me to provide for her and keep us afloat.

I took a deep breath, continuing, "Daryl jumped out from behind a gas station pump. The streets were empty, so there was no one there to…" Save me, I wanted to say. No one was there to save me.

If Daryl hadn't existed, I wonder if my life would've turned out different.

"After he….did things to me, he just left. Fuck, there was blood everywhere. I…" I crushed my eyes with my fingers. "It was so horrible. Eventually, Coleman passed by and found me. That was the first time I'd met him." After he comforted me and told me everything would be okay, he talked about The Ramrod, how I would do really well and get lots of money by working there. Coleman wasn't manager then, but he told me he was a regular customer, and was desperate to see me in "something sexy".

I declined then, but it was around that time I realized I could do much more than blowjobs to earn money.

Dean swallowed, his skin an almost sickly green. He looked disturbed, and as angry as I'd ever seen him. "What happened after? What…what did he do?"

I shrugged, looking away. "He left." I wish that was all he'd done, but it turned out that Coleman became the second person for me to ever have sex with. After he finished, he threw several hundred-dollar bills onto my naked body and walked out of sight. My body was shaking and spastic, drowned in other men's semen, and my own, as well. I was savaged, broken, filthy to the core.

But, as I had stared down at all the money I'd received, holding it in my quivering hands as though it were a sacred jewel, I realized just how much my life could change with this. At that time, I could think of rape as nothing but a blessing.

I finally removed myself from my thoughts, and looked to Dean, who seemed to read something in my lost, distant expression. His gaze only grew colder, angrier, and a shiver raced down my spine.

John nodded, constantly absorbing and analyzing. "And you said Tony and Jake raped you, too. Can you please explain the instance as thoroughly as possible? Anything you give us could be helpful to our investigation."

His mind really was gifted in investigation. His insensitive nature was kind of depressing, but it wasn't something I hadn't been confronted with before. I understood that lots of people couldn't outwardly portray their emotions, or truly say what they wanted to say because of their inherently harsh nature.

And John was one of those people.

"I had been closing up The Ramrod."

"What time?"

I paused in thought. "Maybe 5 in the morning, give or take an hour. They jumped me from behind while I was sweeping under the tables." A very vulnerable position, indeed, with my torso hunched over and ass sticking out. I paused again, scratching my ear. "I guess you can kind of assume what happened from there."

They could have hundreds of visuals in their heads on what happened, but they would never understand. The emotions that came with being raped: fear, shame, hatred. It was a never-ending cycle of pain.

Dean's voice sounded aggrieved, but I didn't look up when he spoke. "D-Did someone finally find you?"

I nodded. "Coleman did. He…" My eyebrows furrowed. "He was…he was so angry."

John mused. "Just like with that man today."

Hudson. I nodded absently. I hadn't realized the connection, but yeah, Coleman truly was very possessive of me, frighteningly so.

"Is there anything else that stands out in your mind when you recall them hurting you?"

After a pregnant pause, I shook my head. Again, I was a bit annoyed with his bluntness, and his complete uncaring nature toward such a delicate matter. I recognized that John's seemingly apathetic attitude was probably just the way he was, but I wished he wouldn't appear this heartless.

John put a hand to his chin, gaze distant as he thought through the newly acquired information. "For each instance you've discussed, Coleman appears." Another pause, and his speech became more abstracted, like he was just thinking through it, and not actually talking to anyone. "I'm beginning to wonder if this is really our kind of hunt…"

I didn't understand what he meant by that—hunt? Like hunt for the bad guy—, but Dean was immediately on the defensive, turning fully toward his father in both surprise and indignation. "What? What the fuck, Dad? That doesn't fucking matter." His voice became a harsh whisper, and I felt a bit awkward still being able to hear it. "We are ending this, whether it's like our usual gigs or not. We are going to save Sam from this. Got it?"

After some hesitation, John finally nodded. He didn't seem too pleased but, at that moment, he was in agreement. He backtracked to the previous topic. "Focus, Dean. All I'm saying is that Coleman appears to be the suspicious one in this scenario."

I just listened with a probably very obvious look of confusion. If the guilty party was not Coleman, then…did that make it their "usual gig"?

What kind of cops were these two?

Dean nodded stubbornly, his gaze still blazing with inner fury. It took him a moment, but eventually calmed down, and got back to the task at hand. "Coleman does seem to show up an awful lot."

I didn't outwardly react, but I still didn't understand the connection. Just because Coleman showed up after my assaults didn't mean he was a killer. Besides, I couldn't imagine Coleman having the guts to kill anyone.

But, then again, I've only seen one side of him, and that was the sexual side. If he had the ability or motive to kill people, I wouldn't have a clue. Either way, I'd leave it to the Vesters for that part of the investigation. They were the experts, not me.

A thought came to my mind, and I blinked dumbly. "How…How did you know about Daryl Woods?"

"We found some newspaper articles about him."

I blinked again. Articles? But there was only one…

"What…?"

"One about how he…" Dean paused, eyes dark, "Hurt you, then another announcing his death."

My eyes nearly burst from their sockets. "Daryl's dead?"

Dean nodded grimly. "He was murdered a few weeks before Jake Howard and Tony Paulo's deaths."

I sat back in my seat in the booth, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well, either way, the notion that Coleman killed Daryl for raping me wouldn't fit. He wasn't there, so he couldn't have known what the guy looked like. When he found me, Daryl was already gone."

Dean's words were strong, and his finger tapped against the table as he spoke. "But maybe he's been looking for clues about that bastard all these years, and finally found him. Maybe that fucker Coleman just wants to keep you for himself."

I didn't argue, but I still didn't want to believe it. Coleman knew I was a prostitute, and all my regulars were still alive. The only people that were dead were the ones that raped me so, until I found some sort of connection, I couldn't believe it.

Suddenly, my curiosity grew. "How'd he die?"

"Blood loss. His dick was chopped off."

My eyes widened. Well, fuck.

Then my eyebrows furrowed. In the newspaper, it said Tony and Jake died the same way…

My eyes widened.

Well fuck. That was the connection I was looking for.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Eventually, Jimmy the waiter reappeared at our booth. My face was grim and peeved, annoyed with the potential Coleman's-a-killer revelation, but I don't think he noticed. He was fervently ignoring me, his sole focus on Dean and John.

With shaking hands, Jimmy held out the check, his cheeks strangely red, and Dean brusquely clipped it from his hands, reading it over. Mission accomplished, Jimmy immediately turned and scurried away, retreating back into the kitchen.

Dean looked at it for a moment, both eyebrows raised in astonishment. I watched him with momentary confusion. Were the meals really that expensive?

Then he handed me the slip of paper, and I eyed it questioningly.

Below the total cost was a phone number written in black ink. Below that it stated it was "for the kid."

My cheeks reddened. "Uh…" I guess Jimmy the sex fiend wanted a more convenient method of getting together. We only met when we bumped into each other on the streets, and I bet there were multiple times Jimmy went looking but didn't find.

I ripped off the bottom portion of the receipt, giving the rest to Dean.

Dean looked at me in astonishment. "Do…do you really intend to call him?" He eyed me strangely, and maybe a little disappointedly. "Do you actually think that's a good idea, Sam?"

I was surprised by that and, if I was being honest with myself, kind of hurt. There had been countless times I've been ridiculed or harassed for leading the life I did, but I didn't think I could take it if it came from Dean.

I stuffed the paper in my back pocket, and evenly met Dean's gaze. I folded my arms together on the table, my appearance nonchalant. "I have sex, Dean, for money. While you're out being moral, saving lives and putting criminals behind bars, I let men fuck me on any hard surface they can shove me against."

Saying it out loud...I hated putting into words what I did at night. It was disgusting, and it was hard, but I had to do it, I had to. When I was thirteen and looking for a job, the only one that'd accept me was The Ramrod. I wasn't allowed to work full-time because of my age, and could only do a few hours a week. The small pay wasn't enough for me to survive on, so I started working the streets. Now, five years later, no one in town wanted me because they all knew what I did and who I was; they knew the real me. With my name forever sullied, the rest of the world turned it's back on me.

Except Greg. In reality, if he hadn't been there for me back then, I would've killed myself a long time ago.

I continued with an accepting sigh. This was my life, and I'd deal with it. "The more clients I get the better chance I have of getting out of here."

Dean seemed unconvinced with my answer, and spoke rationally in disagreement. "But haven't you accumulated a lot of money over the years? With both The Ramrod and…prostitution, surely you've gathered a fair amount—."

"Dean." My eyes pierced him like a flurry of nails. Realistically, I understood where he was coming from. He wanted me to know I didn't have to keep doing this; he was desperate for me to understand.

He was the one that didn't fucking understand.

"You still don't get it," I hissed. "There's no safe place in this town I can keep my money. Do you know where I live, Dean? Every single thing I own is sitting under a makeshift tent in a dark alley surrounded by lowly people just as desperate as I am.

This is my fifth home; all the others have been discovered and I keep losing my money. Fuckers keep stealing it." Even worse than losing my money would be losing my mind. Every night I hoped to see morning, that when I woke up I wouldn't be chained to someone else's bed because they found my hiding spot. I had unbearable phobias and, if one was breached, I wasn't sure what the outcome would be, or if my sanity would remain intact.

I was breathing fairly hard now, and, deep down, I felt embarrassed. I was letting my emotions rule me, and it was defacing my sense of control. I couldn't let this continue the way it was. I liked the Vesters; fuck, I liked them a lot. I didn't want to lose them to this.

Dean spoke first, though, and his expression had changed from desperate to so earnest and pained that I already regretted my outburst. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I—Fuck, I was out-of-line. I should've known better." He put a hand over his face, and I reached over the table to remove it, revealing his pained green eyes.

"No, Dean. I should be the one that's apologizing. I just…got a little carried away."

Dean said nothing, only kept that sad, defeated look on his face, like this latest jab was beyond recoverable.

I understood the feeling, and sat in silence, occasionally glimpsing at the Vesters. Even the big, tough, indestructible John seemed miserable.

I tried to think of something to cheer them up, but stopped when I remembered my stupid sense of humor. What I thought was funny and what they thought was funny were both in entirely different ballparks.

For instance, ridiculing poor Jimmy the waiter was funny as hell.

Though, my sense of humor was a bit off at the moment, and I voted against doing anything to him when he eventually came back for the check. Dean fumbled for his wallet, hastily paying for it in cash.

"Keep the change," he said, flashing a smile so fake no one in a ten-mile radius could have believed it. Jimmy nodded awkwardly, gulping. He looked down at receipt then, and appeared very pleased to see part of the check was ripped off.

When Dean noticed the look, his fake smile vanished like it had never been. We exited the diner, John leading and Dean trailing in the back. It felt oddly protective of them, and we made our way outside. The sun was coming up now, a beam of light slowing driving away the dark abyss.

And wasn't that what Dean and John were doing for me?

I kind of smiled at that, and we stood peacefully outside the diner, me sandwiched between two powerful, overprotective Vesters.

"Sam…" I turned to Dean, who was scratching the back of his head, facial expression nervous and unsure. "I, uh, I know you probably wouldn't want to, with your phobias and what-not, but I don't feel right letting you go back to your, uh…'home'." He looked awkward, and I felt sort of bad for him. "So, do you wanna…" He swallowed loudly. "Just…come with us?"

I stared at him for a moment, deciphering his words. "Come with us", as in…come to their home? To their house, which undoubtedly would consist of a bedroom, which consequently had at least one bed. And since their cops, they'd probably have handcuffs lying around somewhere…

My heart beat loudly, pattering heavily against my chest. In my whole life, I'd entered three houses…My own, Greg's, and Coleman's. Did I want to chance a fourth? Was I strong enough, brave enough to attempt such a task? Could I do it?

Without my own consent, my head dipped down, my feet moving forward until they stood beside Dean.

Dean seemed relieved, and he and John led me to their nice-looking, jet-black car. My legs were shaking violently, and I barely managed to get into the vehicle, closing the door behind me. I had an apprehension for cars, but I had an even bigger one for entering someone's house.

We drove several miles until I watched as we turned into the parking lot of a small, rundown motel. It was shaggy and not in the best of shape. Were cop salaries so insignificant that this was the best they could afford?

Well that wasn't fucking fair.

My thoughts shifted more toward trepidation as both Vesters exited the vehicle. Shakily, my hand opened my own door, closing it behind me.

Dean noticed my hesitation, smiling encouragingly. "It's okay, Sammy, we're not bad guys. We wouldn't ever hurt you."

I swallowed. "M-my name's…Sam." I tried to appear annoyed, but was probably too scared shitless to properly pull it off.

John opened the door and entered, followed by Dean. I took my time in reaching the doorway, hesitantly peeking my head into the room. It was small and confining, the space only consisting of a small TV, two full beds, a wooden dresser, small kitchen area, and a door that led to what I presumed was a bathroom. It certainly contained the necessities, but I wondered how these two Vesters could willingly live in something like this. They worked hard and saved lives, and this was the thanks they received?

It kind of pissed me off.

Besides the bare necessities were newspaper articles pinned on nearly every available surface in the room. Reading the large font of the headlines, I could see they were about murder cases.

Seeing a familiar headline, I stepped forward, eying it curiously as I read, "Child found naked and battered behind a local gas station, tested positive for rape."

I swallowed, the sudden lump in my throat painful and uncomfortable. So this was the newspaper article Dean and John had used to discover I was raped by Daryl Woods.

Well, they were certainly thorough.

Mercifully, the article didn't bother me as much as I would've expected, and I entered the room with little fright. While there were two closed duffel bags with contents unknown, I was now more convinced that Dean and John were truly who they said they were. They lived meager lives, were protectors of the people, and I respected them for their loyalty.

Dean seemed pleased at my progress, and plopped down on the farthest bed, the springs bouncing noisily in response. John wandered to the other bed, flipping through channels on the small television screen.

I eyed the rest of the room curiously, kind of grateful the Vesters were currently ignoring me. I was still couldn't help but be a bit jittery. I trusted them, I truly did, but that didn't mean I liked being in someone else's home.

Thankfully, even after closer inspection, there were no handcuffs in sight. Slightly more relaxed, I went to sit beside Dean on the bed. I scooted my butt, backing up until my head rested against the headboard.

Gods, it'd been so fucking long since I've been on a bed, particularly one not covered in semen.

I couldn't help the hum of pleasure that escaped my lips as my fingers ran through the material of the bed sheets. They were thin, and contained mysterious discoloration, but it was so much better than anything I'd owned, and I was a little jealous.

Dean watched me with a sad expression, then said, "It's pretty early in the day, and you haven't slept in a while. You can rest up here as long as you need." Dean's cheeks reddened, and he looked away, gaze down. "Uh, that is, if you trust us enough to sleep here."

I paused for a moment in consideration. I really was tired. Being knocked unconscious from suffocation wasn't as favorable as intentional slumber, and Coleman had been really rough. My fingers fiddled with the bed sheets again, and a small smile crept onto my face without my consent. How great it'd feel to snuggle under these covers. Maybe a quick catnap wouldn't be too harmful for my health.

I shifted my body, sliding under the bed sheets until they rested on top of me. I turned myself onto my side, and my head situated itself onto a pillow, the lump hard as granite. Fuck, it was amazing.

"Good night," I said sleepily, and I knew Dean was silently howling in delight behind me.

"Night, Sammy," I heard Dean say as he resituated himself, the bed rocking slightly.

I was beginning to dwindle off into unconsciousness, but the intrinsic, "It's Sam," passed my lips, my voice no louder than a muffled whisper. I heard an amused laugh behind me, and that was the last thing that registered before I entered the void of unconsciousness.

XxXxXxXxX

Thank you all again for your continued support! Hope you enjoyed!