Author's Note:

WARNING: This chapter contains a lot of abuse and references to some ugly things so if you don't like it probably best you skim past it. Oh, since this is an upload and such most of you already know but for some people I need to make it obvious. THERE WILL BE QUESTIONABLE SEXUAL ACTIVITY MENTIONED AND/OR DESCRIBED BE VERY ADVISED.


"Then… Then I'll run away!" Dean countered; his pudgy face full with as much serious as he could fit in it.

John snorted, "Sure you will. Just eat them, or go to your room."

Dean stubbornly dropped out of his chair and stormed away, "I hate you!" He cried poutily, running up the stairs.

The five-year-old dropped into his bed and threw a tantrum, tears running down his face as he stared up at the ceiling, wishing he had pie. Stupid mom and dad, was all he could think, the only people he would blame for the fact that he wasn't getting any pie. His dad didn't believe him when he said it but he'd show dad, he'd prove that he didn't have to eat the gross, yucky things.

Dean grabbed his baseball cap, the one his dad had bought him at their first baseball game together, just the two of them. He pulled it down as far as it'd go, getting stuck on his large ears, which is where he left it.

He knew his parents were busy with little Sammy; Dean was sorry he couldn't say good-bye to his little brother but if he were caught now he'd never be able to run away. So he left without parting words to Sam, he didn't know at the time how sorry he would be later that he didn't.

Dean snuck out easily and ran as far as he could go, which wasn't that far but you don't say that to a five year old. It took the better part of the day for Dean to wander further and further from home. He looked around at the sketchy neighborhood, everything looked dirtier, even the people. The homes were run down, some might have even been boarded shut, he wasn't sure really.

A man walked up to him, tall, skinny, messy and with a mean look in his eye. "Why're you all alone?" He slurred in a weird way, much different than when his dad was drunk, this sounded deliberate.

"I ran away from home." Dean stated stubbornly.

"Ran away… Why would you do a thing like that?" The man looked him up and down, that smile spreading and almost cracking his face in half.

"Because mom and dad wouldn't listen to me. I said I didn't wanna eat the yucky things…" Dean frowned deeply.

"Awww…" The man squatted down to look at the clean and smooth face of the small boy, "Well kiddo you should have listened to them… Because now you'll be staying with me."

Dean looked up, confused. "What?"

This man snatched Dean up, covering his mouth with a dirty palm, and whisked him into a grungy dump of a building, tossing him onto the floor in his basement. "Stay there a while." He sneered with a laugh.

Dean looked up, eyes wide in shock and fear. Suddenly he wanted his daddy but no matter how much he cried and screamed his hero never showed up.

After hours and hours in the dark, smelly room Dean wandered to the staircase and hopped up it until he reached the door, "Mister?" He called, "I gotta pee, can I use the bathroom?" He waited patiently but no answer came. "Hello?" He reached up and tried the filthy door handle but of course it was locked. Dean frowned and hopped back down the stairs, figuring maybe there was a toilet down here he could use.

Just as he made it to the bottom step the door opened and the man came down, "Alastair," he said with that smile again, "What's your name, kiddo?"

"Dean…" Dean fidgeted awkwardly, "Do you have a bathroom?"

Alastair looked around and shrugged, "Backroom" he pointed toward a blackened doorway, which Dean scurried toward. Alastair grinned and followed the boy, not allowing him any sort of privacy.

Dean looked up anxiously but couldn't hold it in anymore so he just went, not bothering to try to get alone time. Once done he washed his hands though the water was questionable, pretty rusty and other possible things in the pipes. Dean wiped his hands on his pants and looked over at Alastair, "I'm hungry…"

Alastair smiled and grabbed Dean by his hair, hauling him to one side of the basement where a grimy mattress had been discarded. He pinned Dean to the wall, pressing hard against the boy's ribcage until Dean could only squeak in protest, "I don't care." Alastair hissed with a laugh, "You're mine now, boy."

Dean looked up, horror written across his face. "I wanna go home." He whined when the man let up on the pressure, "Please…"

"Not a chance." Alastair let Dean drop onto the dirty thing below him, kneeling as well, "We're going to have some… fun."

The next few hours would have been filled with Dean's screaming except a rag had been shoved into his mouth to prevent it, didn't need people hearing a child's scream while the police were looking for him. Alastair left when he felt like it, walking away from the bloody mess of a boy he'd had his way with.

Dean sniveled, hands shakily moving up to pull the gag from his mouth, his tongue roaming through the ugly, pasty tastes left behind. He whimpered when trying to move, his legs trembling and though he knew it hurt like hell he couldn't really feel his ass, just a dull throbbing mixed with a fast cooling liquid that had leaked down into the mattress. Dean decided moving wasn't such a good idea though, instead he curled up and started to cry uncontrollably.

Alastair returned soon after and smacked him, "Shut up." He snarled, "If you stop making noise I'll feed you."

Dean tried to stop crying though he was only five; self-control wasn't exactly simple for him. Alastair gagged him again; this time he tied it in a knot to make sure Dean couldn't get it out even if he tried. "There." The man growled as he walked away, "Next time shut up on your own."

Dean sobbed harder into the rag, he wished he could curl further into and further into a ball and just disappear. He wished he had eaten the food his mom and dad told him to.


The rest of that year was spent just like that; Dean learned to shut up pretty quickly, especially when his stomach felt like it would suck everything into itself. He'd mostly come to accept the treatment he'd been getting, or at least he didn't complain out loud because he knew it would make things worse. Every night he stared up at the ceiling of his basement cell and whispered to his dad though he knew the man couldn't hear him; "I'll eat my vegetables, daddy." He whimpered and sniffled quietly, "I'll eat all of them. Please, find me…" But every night his hopes went unheard.

He'd been allowed upstairs a few times, and soon had almost free roam of the house except for Alastair's room. Dean never left the house that year, he stayed in the safety of the house, knowing that there were other people out there in the world that would take him like Alastair had, at least Dean knew Alastair would feed him.

At the one-year marker Alastair pat Dean on the shoulder and said, "Why don't you go outside for a bit?"

Dean looked up, a little suspicious but really kind of excited, "You mean it?"

Alastair grinned, "Yeah, in a minute." He punched Dean across the room, adding to a million other cuts and bruises that the boy already had. There was no reason for it anymore, Dean knew that asking why wouldn't get him any answers as to how to avoid it so he instead he just started to stand up again.

"Stay in the backyard." Alastair ordered, opening the backdoor.

Dean nodded and stumbled out, he could feel his face swelling already and it wasn't until the cool breeze flowed over him that he realized his head might be bleeding. He didn't need a reminder that his leg was pretty broken up though the uneven ground decided to help him with that. Dean tripped over some scrap metal sticking out of the ground and landed on a bunch of other garbage and scraps scattered about, he'd now cut pretty much anything that had no marks made on him.

Despite the pain he hardly made a sound as his limbs felt like they went numb, he slowly pulled himself off the pile and limped along, finding that several houses shared the same nasty backyard. It looked like a space that people dumped their shit for lack of a better place to put it. Dean sat in the center in a big tire and stared down at the ground. He was outside, now what? He couldn't go anywhere, no one could really see him back here, he was never going home. He was stuck with that monster until he died because Dean was sure that he would. Tears welled up and he tried to wipe them away, he sobbed quietly and continued to rub his eyes because the tears didn't stop.

He hadn't noticed the person walking over to him until they dropped onto the tire beside him, and though it could have been Alastair Dean didn't bother to look up. If it were Alastair he'd have been hit by now, no this other person was also much much smaller.

Dean's crying eventually slowed down until they sat beside each other in silence for what felt like forever and yet no time at all.

The other boy turned his head at about the same time Dean had, both staring at one another and taking in the beaten state. Dean realized that this boy looked about as bad as he did, messy, shaggy brown hair matted down in a few places with something Dean didn't want to identify. Light brown eyes scrutinizing and scanning him, every movement he made was just as distrustful as Dean's, possibly more so. He had dark bruises on his face and even uglier ones on his neck, leading down into the collar of his shirt.

"You look like shit." The boy said evenly to Dean, as if he weren't just as horrid looking.

Dean frowned and looked away, staring down at his feet. What could he say in return to that? He took his time trying to think of something, he didn't notice how much time had passed while he thought, in fact after an hour he finally muttered his reply, "No… you…"

The other boy snorted a laugh, his face brightened with a smile, "Wow, that's it?"

Dean looked up at him and couldn't help the smile the spread across his face, it'd been so long since he'd seen a genuine smile like the one the other boy had. It was sincere and lacked any disturbing thoughts that could taint it. "Shut up." He felt himself laugh a little bit as he spoke, another thing that he hadn't done in a long time.

The boys snickered together until the other one stuck his hand out, "Name's Jet."

"Dean." He replied and took Jet's hand. Instead of doing a regular handshake, though, the boys made up a secret one that they'd later change and mess up over and over again. It didn't matter though, both had finally found someone they could call their friend.

"Meet you out here tomorrow?" Jet asked after his father shouted for him, the boy had already stood and was walking toward his house, the one directly across the yard from Dean's.

"If he lets me." Dean answered quietly.

Jet looked up at the window to see the creepy man staring down at Dean with a somewhat pleased grin, "I think he will." He waved at Dean and ran off after another hollering of his name.

The door opened behind Dean and Alastair motioned for him to come in, pat him on the head as he passed by.

Dean couldn't understand why Alastair let him back out the next day or the following one, in fact his bruises had mostly healed and he'd been cleaned up some. The only places Alastair hit him were under his clothes, unless it looked like skinned knees and the like he didn't want Dean getting too hurt. This went on for about a week and before Dean could figure any of it out he was being shipped into school, something he remembered doing a tiny bit for pre-school, but he'd only really done about a day of that.

His first day he'd been given instructions; no talking about Alastair, don't tell people about where he used to live, don't show anyone his scars or bruises and if someone sees them then say that he got them playing outside. Also he had to wait for Alastair to pick him up in the same vehicle he was dropped off in, Alastair wouldn't be getting out of the car so Dean would have to recognize it. All of these things and a few others were what he needed to do to ensure he ate so he did them.

Dean sighed heavily, how would he explain the limp he walked with? Playing outside as well? What, did he fall and a tree forcefully rammed up his ass repeated, over and over and over every day? That didn't make much sense. What if he couldn't explain the bruises properly? What if he accidentally talked about Alastair when people asked who picked him up? Or if people talked about their moms and dads, what if he talked about the ones he used to have? And little Sammy? Dean shook his head; this school thing would be the end of him, he'd never eat again and then he'd die. Making the last year of his struggle to survive a horrible waste of time.

Luckily for him the moment he walked in the door he heard Jet calling to him.

Dean looked up and smiled, watching his equally injured friend wave him over. Maybe school wouldn't be so bad; after all, in the last week of knowing Jet he'd learned enough to know that Jet was a king of liars. If anyone could help him lie about his injuries or cover for him in anything, it'd be Jet.