CHAPTER SEVEN

"I'm gonna be a while, Sammy," Dean said, surprised. "Sure you don't want to come in?"

Sam looked inside the bar. It was crowded, dark and smoky. He shook his head positively and motioned to the park across the street. Only one child played there, on the swings. A man sat on a bench near him, talking on a cell phone.

Dean looked across at the park and frowned, not liking the idea of Sam being out on his own. "Sam, come on in. Just one game, I promise."

Sam patted Dean's arm reassuringly and pointed up at the sun, then back at the park. He gave Dean a pat on the cheek and trotted across the street.

Dean stared uneasily after him, then shrugged – just one game - and went into the bar.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The park was small; just a swing set, a rickety slide, some monkey bars and a nearly empty sandbox.

Sam sat on the bench near the monkey bars, his arms stretched along the top of the bench, face turned up to the late afternoon sun. The steady, rhythmic creak of the boy's swing as he soared through the air was soothing, nearly hypnotic, sending him close to the edge of sleep.

"Alex!"

Startled, Sam opened his eyes, blinking against the sun.

"Alex! Get your ass over here!"

The boy, probably around eight-years-old, dug his feet into the gravel, halting his flight. He ran to the man on the bench and the man roughly grabbed his arm. "You come the first time I call you! Don't make me repeat myself!"

"Sorry, Daddy," Alex said in a small voice, looking at the ground.

"Your mom's home. About damned time, too. It's not like I've got nothing to do but watch you."

The boy didn't answer. Grunting in disgust, the man got up, shoving the boy toward the sidewalk. "Get going."

Face dark, Alex bit back a protest and started walking, careful to keep a couple of feet ahead of his father.

When they were no more than a block down the street, Sam uncoiled from the bench and slouched down the street after them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean couldn't concentrate on the game. It was just no damned fun without Sam.

Even though he was kicking his opponent's ass, he dropped the pool cue, tossed the wager onto the table and walked out without a word.

Outside, he scanned the park and cursed violently, an ugly look on his face. Where the hell was his brother?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ed Waldrop stalked away from his ex-wife's house. Bitch! Where the hell did she get off? If he had the money he'd pay the damned support! Did she think he liked knowing that the kid needed new shoes and she couldn't afford it? Did she think he liked being out of work?

Scowling at the injustice of life, Ed started across the street to his car, then stopped when someone stepped suddenly in front of him. "What –"

A fist plowed into his nose, breaking it and sending him to the ground. Flat on his back, hands clasped protectively over his bloody nose, Ed looked up to see a young man - a stranger - standing over him. "Who the hell are you?" he croaked.

Sam smiled and kicked Ed in the side. The crack of a broken rib was lost in the sound of the man's choking scream. He tried to scramble away. Sam stomped on his ankle and another crack sounded. Ed collapsed, eyes bulging, the pain too great to allow another scream. "Stop," he gasped hoarsely. "Please! "

Sam never lost his smile, but his eyes were far away.

It's your fault, Sam!

Sam kicked Eddie in the ribs again. Another crack. The man couldn't even moan now.

You should have died, you bastard!

A stomp to the groin.

Hold still, you little freak!

Sam's boot connected with Ed's head and the man went still.

"Hey!" Dean appeared beside Sam, gun in hand. "What the fuck, Sam?"

Sam looked at his brother and then disinterestedly back down at the body.

Dean glanced around at the crowd of horrified housewives and stunned children gaping at the bloody scene. At the forefront of the crowd, a young woman was holding a struggling young boy back. She was weeping. The boy's face was streaked with tears; eyes fixed on the motionless body.

Sirens wailed, coming closer.

Careful not to startle him, Dean took Sam's arm and pulled him unresisting to the Impala, idling a few feet away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When they were well away, Dean stopped the car and made Sam change his blood- spattered clothing. Sam seemed vaguely surprised, but did as his brother asked.

Back on the road, Dean asked no questions about what had happened. He drove, fingers drumming on the steering wheel to an inner rhythm, happy to be tooling down the highway in his baby with his brother safe beside him.

Eyes tranquil, Sam sat with his hands clasped lightly in his lap. After a time, his body listed to the side and his head rested on Dean's shoulder.

He slept.