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Thank you far all your reviews, I'm glad you liked the last chapter :) The next update should be on Wednesday if I can find the time to read through it between now and then…

Chapter 10

After eating a plateful of microwave scrambled eggs, Dean insisted on checking Sam's bruised hand. Sam sat at the counter in the kitchen while Dean unwrapped his bandage carefully, lifting the gauze Sam had used to pad each side. Sam inwardly winced as the support was removed but he didn't let anything show on his face. Pain was for pussies.

The sight of blackened knuckles and marbled swirls of bruising made Dean twitch slightly, but no revulsion or shock appeared on his face. Instead he carefully felt along the lines of each bone in Sam's hand to check for damage. He made Sam bend each finger as far as he could to test the nerve response. When he seemed to be satisfied, Dean brought out fresh gauze and bandages from a cupboard. Holding out a hand, Dean looked up at Sam for silent permission to rewrap it. Gently, like he was handling a baby bird, Dean placed a pad of gauze on the knuckles and under the palm. He wrapped the whole package in a bandage, frowning in concentration as he worked and smoothing the bandage into place with soft fingers. Sam watched Dean's face rather than look at the mess that was his hand. The older man looked up, hand still holding Sam's, to meet Sam's eyes.

"All done." Dean said, not dropping Sam's hand.

"Thanks." Dean was watching him, an indefinable look on his face. Sam noticed that Dean's eyes were almost the same green as his own, maybe a shade lighter.

"No problem." The intense look left Dean's face in a hurry. He let go of Sam's hand. "I don't think it's broken anywhere, but you should probably get it checked out at a hospital if it doesn't start healing in a few days." Dean said, fussing with the dirty dishes.

"Dean." Sam got his attention. He didn't want to have to talk about his now-revealed shame anymore, but he needed to make sure Dean understood before they could drop the subject. "About…my dad." Dean's face darkened at the mention.

"What about him?"

"You…you can't say anything to him. You can't tell him I told you." Sam said, imploring with his eyes. Dean blinked, his mouth opening slightly in shock.

"Sam, what…you can't expect me to just forget what you told me! I'm not gonna let him get away with what he's done to you." But I deserved it, Sam screamed in his mind. How can you not see that after everything I told you? He closed his eyes.

"Dean, it'll be worse if he finds out I told. Just…let me take care of myself. I've done it for the last sixteen years." A trace of bitterness leaked into his words and Sam flushed a little.

"Yeah, and now you don't have to. I'm not going to just allow him to keep on beating you up."

Sam clenched his jaw. But before he could say anything else, Dean was standing in front of him, helping him up from his chair and leading him into the living area as if he was some kind of invalid.

"C'mon kid, you can stay here tonight." Sam stared at him, feeling Dean's arm against his back.

"What?"

Dean turned to face him. "You're in no condition to go home by yourself, and it's practically midnight now, you might as well sleep here." Dean's eyes widened slightly and his cheeks flushed. "Not, uh, like that. I mean, you can take the bed and I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Oh." He felt his face getting hot to match Dean's and they both looked away. "Uh, thanks, but you don't have to."

"It's no problem." The tone brooked no argument.

Dean left Sam in his bedroom changing into sweats and an old tee shirt Dean had dug up for him to borrow. Already he was regretting telling the kid to stay with him, and not just because it would look incredibly wrong to anyone who might find out about it. He'd crossed a lot of lines with Sam, gone further than was considered appropriate. But the situation wasn't normal, he justified. Sam wasn't just another student.

He poured out a glass of water and searched the cupboards in his kitchen for a couple of ibuprofen pills for Sam's hand. The kid's story was still creeping around in the corners of his mind, not quite sunk in yet. He was still having trouble believing that Sam would ever put up with that kind of treatment from his father, let alone think that he deserved it. And Dean could tell that although Sam wanted to believe his insistence that his mother's death wasn't his fault, his fathers programming was still the overriding force in his head.

By the time he went back into the bedroom with a glass of water and two white pills, Sam was asleep in his bed, wrapped up in a nest of blankets.

The sound of a coffee maker percolating woke Sam from his deep and thankfully dreamless sleep. For a second he didn't know where he was, lying still and blinking at the clean and comfortable bed he was in. The bed sheets were soft and smelled of faint lavender. The mattress was firm and lump-free, and the pillows (multiple) were padded, unlike the flat and well-pounded ones found in the motel rooms he more often than not stayed in. He heard movement outside the room, someone humming Led Zeppelin and clinking china. The aroma of bacon cooking floated in through the open doorway.

He sat up, his body less stiff and sore for sleeping in a proper bed with warm covers for once. Seeing pills and water on the night stand, he swallowed them down dry and went in search of Dean.

He found him in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove and poking at frying bacon with a spatula. Dean hadn't shown any awareness of Sam, so Sam took the moment to watch him silently. Dean flipped the bacon expertly and hummed along to the song playing in his head, singing a few random lines as he worked. He wore a pair of old jeans, frayed at the cuffs where they dragged along the ground and worn to a bleached out blue. They moulded the backs of his legs and ass like he'd been born wearing them and Sam spent a moment staring unabashedly.

Dean glanced in his direction and jumped at the sight of Sam. "Shit, you scared the crap outta me!" Sam gave a small smile and quickly looked down at his feet.

"Sorry." He looked back up at Dean's face through his hair. Dean was smiling uncertainly, like he wasn't sure how to act around Sam now.

"How are you feeling? Sleep okay?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Can…can we not talk about it? What I told you last night?" Sam used his best pleading face. Dean frowned a little, his mouth tightening, but he nodded reluctantly.

"Okay. For now." Dean turned back to the bacon cooking. "So, you want some breakfast?"

Dean had spent an uncomfortable night on the sofa, his mind replaying Sam's confession again and again. And Sam's refusal at breakfast to talk about it at all just made it worse. The more he thought about it, the stronger the urge to beat the crap out of Sam's dad became. How dare that fucker think he had any right to touch Sam? The kid was way too good to be treated like that, he was sweet and kind and selfless and…And Dean had to stop thinking, right now.

Christ, he'd allowed a student to spend the night at his house, in his bed. And said student was currently in his shower, naked and using Dean's shower gel and Herbal Essences shampoo and toothpaste. Dean slumped heavily on the sofa. What the hell was he thinking, getting so involved? This had to end, right now. He'd help Sam with the werewolf, maybe try and get him to talk to someone about his dad, but that was it. No emotions.

Picking up the pillow and sheets he'd used the night before, Dean carried them into the bedroom and stuffed them untidily into a cupboard. He could hear Sam in the bathroom, the irregular tap of water on glass as he stood under the shower. Dean felt his face flush when he caught himself looking at the closed bathroom door and turned away quickly, walking out of the bedroom.

It felt surreal, Dean knowing everything. All the secrets Sam had tried so hard to conceal from the world, and he couldn't quite get his head around the fact that Dean hadn't told him to get out yet. He dried himself quickly with one hand, the still-bandaged left hand held awkwardly away from his wet body. The scent of cucumber-melon shower gel lingered on his skin and in the humid air of the small bathroom. He wiped down the mirror above the sink with one hand, preparing to clean his teeth when he saw the inky bruises littering his torso in the reflection. He froze, staring blankly at himself with cold eyes.

The sound of something being dropped outside broke him free of his daze. He looked toward the door almost furtively, like Dean could see him through the wood. The humiliation of showing off his battered body was more than he could take after the shame of the night before.

Sam pulled on his tee shirt roughly, smoothing it over himself and refusing to meet his own gaze in the mirror.

Dean looked up from his seat at the counter as Sam stepped out of the bedroom, damp hair hanging in wet clumps in his eyes. His face was pink from the steam. The kid gave him a shy smile when he noticed Dean's interest, taking a hesitant step toward him.

"I guess I better get going."

"Yeah, okay." Dean had the irrational urge to ask the kid to stay, just move in with him and stay right there where Dean could see him, could know he was alright. But Sam was picking up his keys and cell phone from the coffee table where he'd put them last night, before he'd spilled his soul to Dean.

He stood, unsure of himself suddenly. What was the appropriate gesture for saying goodbye to students who'd stayed the night at your apartment? Apparently Sam didn't know either and they stood uncomfortably in front of each other, not able to hold their gaze without one of them looking away. Finally Dean gestured to the door and Sam walked toward it with something like relief. Dean followed him to the open door. He could see Sam's Mustang parked on the opposite side of the street. The kid gave him another of his sweet smiles and turned to walk to his car, but Dean caught his arm before he could take a step.

"Sam? Look, about your dad." Sam tensed.

"What about him?" He said guardedly.

"Look, I don't want to argue with you about it, but you said he's not here right now? At your apartment."

"No, he's in Iowa." Sam looked at the ground. "I didn't lie about that."

"Okay, that's all I wanted to know. I just…didn't want you turning up at school on Monday black and blue because you didn't come home last night." Dean tried to sound light, but it was hard forcing the words out. "But, just so you know, we are still gonna have a talk about that soon. I'm not going to stand by and let you get beaten up." Sam looked over at Dean, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Finally he gave a curt nod and pulled his arm out of Dean's grip, walking across the road to the waiting Mustang without a word.

Sam spent the rest of the weekend alone in the empty apartment. He cleaned all the rooms except for his father's bedroom, washed every plate and cup and kitchen utensil in the place, scrubbed down every surface he could find, even balanced painfully on his hands and knees to wash the floor, his bad hand drawn up to his stomach. He removed years-old mould from the corners of the bathroom, polished the windows until all the water stains were gone, washed down the rickety coffee table until the ancient rings from millions of glasses and cups dissolved into nothing. When he was finished he allowed himself to collapse on his battered sofa, hugging his legs to his body and praying his father wouldn't come back for him ever.

Dean waited until the end of class on Monday before calling Sam over with a surreptitious wave. The kid made his excuses to his little blonde friend and took his time packing up his bag until everyone had left the room. He looked up at Dean with an uneasy glance, making his way through the maze of desks. Dean wanted to tell him to calm down, he wasn't going to discuss Sam's father here. It would feel almost blasphemous to talk about something so private in school, where the difference in their relationship was made so blatant to both of them.

"I wanted to talk about the werewolf." Dean said in a lowered voice. No point in making it easy to overhear that subject either. Sam visibly relaxed, tension fading from his body.

"Oh. Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, are we gonna try and find this guy?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I thought we could go through the names, check out their backgrounds, the areas they lived in. If there're any corresponding attacks around the right times and places, we'll have some leads."

"Good idea. Do you have a laptop?"

"My dad took it." Sam said in a quiet voice. His jaw tightened, like he expected Dean to leap on the subject now it had been mentioned. Dean bit the inside of his mouth and pretended he hadn't seen Sam's reaction.

"Well we could use mine, but it's not all that reliable. We'd probably be better off in the library again, or using the school computer lab. If we meet up after school finishes tomorrow, we could give it a shot."

"Okay." Sam met Dean's eyes almost apologetically. "I'll meet you here after school tomorrow." He held the contact for a second longer, then walked away.

Sam sat silently in front of the computer in the school computer sciences lab, systematically going through the names on his list and crossing them off one by one.

"So, found anything yet?" Sam nearly jerked back as Dean's voice spoke in his ear. The older man had attempted to sit still and help, but after half an hour Sam could practically feel the air vibrate with stifled movement next to him. He'd hidden his smile and tactfully mentioned that he could handle this by himself if Dean wanted to do something else. Dean had objected at first but then after another failed attempt had given up and offered to help by getting Sam some coffee from the teachers' lounge instead.

"Not yet. But I've still got over half of the names to go. If none of the names on the list match up to any attacks, then at least we'll have ruled them out."

"You need any help?"

"I'm good." Dean hovered behind Sam for a few seconds, indecisive. Sam turned around intending on telling Dean he was fine doing it by himself, only to be confronted by Dean's shirt-covered abs inches from his nose. He ducked away, almost falling off his chair. "Uh, don't worry about it."

Dean took several hasty steps back, a hand coming up to nervously rub at the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay. I'll, uh, leave this here." Sam watched from under his bangs as the other man carefully reached out and placed the paper coffee cup on the desk with the cautious movements of someone expecting a sudden attack. He sat on a chair on the opposite side of the room, giving Sam a slightly sheepish smile. Sam bit his lip and tried to get back to work, deliberately ignoring Dean's presence.

He really should talk to Sam about this whole…relationship they had going on right now, Dean thought as he absentmindedly poured what must have been the twentieth cup of coffee that day. After many trips from one end to the school to the other, he'd finally given in and brought the small coffee maker into the computer lab with him.

He didn't want Sam getting any ideas, thinking that Dean was trying to hit on him or anything. The kid already had a complex about authority figures, the last thing he needed was to worry about sleazy teachers inviting him to spend time alone with them. Even if it is completely innocent, he thought as he stirred in sugar and placed the cup in front of Sam.

The kid was still pounding away, now using a second computer to load up various news articles and police reports. He was focused intently on the screens. According to Sam, his dad did all the research before hunts and then sent for Sam to do the actual hunting, but Sam didn't seem too shoddy at research himself. The green in Sam's eyes shone brilliantly in the glow of the screen. Without looking away, Sam snaked his good hand around the computer and snatched up the cup of coffee.

Dean wandered aimlessly around the room. He wanted to find himself something to do rather than sitting around feeling useless, but he didn't want to disturb Sam's researching marathon. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven in the evening.

"Dean. I think I found something." Dean looked over to Sam.

"Our guy?" Dean walked over to stand behind Sam, looking at the computer screen over his shoulder.

"I dunno. There are two possibilities actually, I'm pretty sure it's not the first guy, but we should probably check out both just to be safe." Sam pointed his finger at two names on the list. Most of the others had been crossed out. "I'll check out the rest of these just to be sure, but these guys match up with our circumstances."

"William Henderson and James Dale." Dean read.

"Yep. James Dale was living in Michigan for five years before he moved here. I checked out old news articles and for about eight months before our attacks started, there were a string of violent murders, big on the blood and guts. Not that it actually said that, I read between the lines a little." Sam looked up with a half-smile. "They thought it was a serial killer or some kind of psychopath. There haven't been any more reported murders for a few months now."

"So that's our guy." Dean said, flashing his teeth in a grin. "Let's go get him."

"Wait, wait. There haven't been any reported murders in Michigan in the last three months. The police might be keeping it quiet. It might just be an ordinary psycho guy that happened to be there at the same time and place as our guy."

"Okay. So what about this other guy?"

"This one's pretty much the same deal, only in Ohio. The police reports say the victims look like they've been attacked by wild dogs. And there's one witness from an attack about four months ago, said he was attacked as he was walking home by some kind of animal. It doesn't say if he was bitten or not." Sam twisted around to face Dean. "But I'm not sure it's him either. He lives in an apartment with his girlfriend. I'm guessing she would notice if he disappeared for three nights in a row. And this thing hunts, if he changed anywhere near her then she would be the easy target."

Dean sat down at the long desk and moved over to get a clearer view, scanning the articles Sam had on the screen. "Well at least we have something to go on. And it could be one of these guys."

"Yeah. James Dale seems the more likely out of the two, unless William has a really bad relationship with his girlfriend."

"Or maybe she's into bestiality." Dean waggled his eyebrows. Sam gave him a scathing look. "What? You never know."

The final names on the list ruled out, Dean returned the coffee maker to the teachers' lounge and locked up the computer lab. Sam waited silently at his side holding the printed copies of news reports and details. The corridors of the school were empty, the only background noise the distant sound of the caretakers vacuuming classrooms on the other side of the building.

"So, we go talk to these guys now, find out if they were busy over the full moon?" Dean asked Sam as they started walking, side by side.

"Yep. Of course it might not be either of them, then we'll really be stuck…" As they neared the exit, a voice calling Dean's name from behind them stopped them in their tracks. Dean spun around on his heel, trying to keep the guilty expression off his face.

"Mr Winchester. What are you still doing here?" The Principal strode up the corridor after them, all neat grey lines and stern expression. She looked surprised to see Dean and he couldn't really blame her. It wasn't like he made a habit of spending time at school after hours, and never this late.

Dean resisted the urge to look at his feet like a chastised child. "I was…helping Sam with an assignment." He gestured to Sam standing behind him.

"Oh really?" She looked doubtful.

"Yes ma'am. He's the new transfer student, I thought I should help him catch up with the rest of the class." Sam was watching the exchange with a perfectly calm expression. When Principal Markenham looked in his direction he gave her a quiet little smile and ducked his head.

"Dean, may I talk to you privately for a second?" He gritted his teeth at the Principal's words but smiled brightly at her.

"Of course. Sam, I'll see you in school tomorrow."

Sam nodded to him. "Okay, Sir. Thank you for your help." He turned and walked away reluctantly, taking one quick glance back at Dean. Principal Markenham waited until the doors closed behind him before saying anything.

"Dean. I've been meaning to discuss Sam Miller with you, actually. Or more specifically, your relationship with him." Dean's heart stuttered to a halt, then began pumping triple-time.

"What…what about Sam Miller?" He hoped his voice didn't give anything away. But Principal Markenham didn't seem to notice anything.

"Some of his teachers have voiced concerns about him, or more specifically about the…injuries he seems to have. Last week he came to school with a black eye, then in gym his teacher noticed a bandage around his hand. I'm sure you've noticed."

Dean nearly caved in relief. "Yes, I have. But, uh, what do I have to do with it?"

"Well, I've seen the interest you've taken in the boy, and I was hoping you might be able to get him to talk about it. It'll probably be nothing, but just in case."

"Uh, yeah of course. I'll have a word with him about it."

"Thank you. And it's nice to see you taking an interest in your students for once, I must say."

Dean waited until she walked away before sagging against the wall. Taking an interest. Yeah. He nearly choked on a hoarse laugh.