"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean slowly entered the room through the still open door. Nothing had changed. He had thought he would come back to find him gone and the money too. He would not have blamed him. Not after what he had just done. But the money was still there and so was Sammy. He breathed a sigh of relief then flinched in panic as he saw the figure still curled tightly on the floor, not moving.

"Sam!" and he ran to him crouching down, tentatively placing a hand on a shoulder. The boy just curled up more. "Please, Sam? Are you okay? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had no right to hit you. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

Dean rubbed his hand over Sam's shoulders and back. He was sorry. Especially now as he realised his anger had been directed at the wrong person. He had just let the rage come and lashed out at the nearest person. He should have thought first. It was obvious now he had calmed down. No, that was a lie. He was not calm, he had just managed to get his temper under control, holding it in ready to channel when he needed it. That was a lesson he had learnt a long time ago and had learnt it well.

"I'll kill him for this," he assured the still figure. It was clear who the instigator had been and no one said 'No' to John Winchester. He seldom, if ever had. Sammy would have had no choice, no chance. Of that he was now sure. He had been so fucking stupid.

"No you won't," small, quiet as Sam uncurled slightly, just enough to be able to see Dean from under his arm.

"Yes, I will."

"No, you won't and I wouldn't want you too."

"But he had no right to do this to you."

Sam shifted to sitting against the bed, still curled with his head down. His fingers toyed with the hem of a Jean's leg as he mumbled, "It was nothing."

Dean put his hand to his chin, lifting his face but Sam turned his head away. He did not want Dean to see him like this, his face tearstained and swollen. He could feel his cheek. He had plenty of experience to know it was swollen from where he had hit him. He was tired. So tired. He felt weary and old way past his years.

Twisting to sit against the bed next to the dejected figure, Dean used his left hand to reach and pick up Sam's unresisting right one. He held it between his own, stroking it as he wondered what to say. He knew the boy must have had a shitty life up until this point. He had told him very little and he had not pushed. He had had images of making him laugh, of making him happy. Now look what he had done.

"I'm sorry," he told him again.

=0=

Now, holding the thin frame tight into his side on the bed, Dean gently ran his fingers through the silky hair. He was racked with guilt, still finding it hard to believe that he had actually hit the boy. In anger. Twice!

But it had made him angry, furious and a red haze had seemed to descend over his eyes, the blood pounding around his ears, the thought of Sammy, his Sammy, on his knees, sucking his father's prick.

He should have known. He should have realised immediately that it would not have been by choice. He was no fool when it came to his father. He knew him and no matter their relationship, he did understand. John Winchester could be a bastard, a ruthless bastard and although his reaction to Dean's relationship with the teenager currently in his arms had been surprisingly mild, he should have been aware that there was more to it.

John Winchester could be manipulative and subtle with it. He had lived with it all his life, had seen it put to good use time and again. Dean was not naive enough to believe that his father did not use the same skills on him. It had become steadily clearer this last couple of years. That in itself had been one of the reasons for the tension and friction between them.

Dean was a man now, still young by some standards but he had had to grow up fast. He was no longer some child needing his daddy to know what was best, what was good for him. He had followed him blindly for years. True, the man was an excellent hunter, had needed to be to protect both himself and Dean and attempt to gain vengeance for his dead wife and son.

But so was Dean.

The difference was, Dean did not feel the burning need for revenge, the desire for justice no matter the cost. Dean was tired. He had had enough. He wanted an end to the nomadic life, the endless procession of town after town, motel and bar. He was tired of waking up next to women he could not remember the names of, if that was, he even bothered to stay long enough to fall asleep.

He could not deny that he enjoyed the hunt. Putting down one evil thing after another. But now he knew that that was not enough. His own rage, at this life, at his father, at everything, had been building. He could hear the screams, the cries and wailing every time he sobered up, could see the ravaged faces, the looks of pure hatred every time he closed his eyes.

Until Sam.

Even that very first glimpse of him, stood in a halo of light, had called to him, had somehow managed to quieten the voices inside.

That his father could have done this, spoiled something that was so precious to Dean, hurt. And he in turn lashed out at the wrong person. He had hurt Sammy, something he had vowed never to do. He felt as if there was a knife sticking into the pit of his belly and he had placed it there himself.

"Sammy. I am so sorry," he whispered to the sleeping figure tucked along his side, still playing with the brunette locks on the head resting on the crook of his shoulder.

The boy's long leg moved to lay across his, bending over his thigh and his left hand ran over his chest to envelope him and hold him tighter. "It was nothing."

Dean closed his eyes tight against the pure wrongness of that statement. That Sam should, could dismiss the violence as nothing, as just an everyday, accustomed occurrence. He had to fight to keep the anger from his voice. It was that which had caused his unforgivable actions. "It was not nothing. You don't deserve to be treated like that. By him or by me. I am sorry. I promise, I will never hit you in anger again."

Sam pushed his face into Dean's soft neck, wanting to believe but he knew better. Dean meant what he was saying, he really did but things happened. Feelings changed.

Dean tightened his arms, enfolding the boy tight then just lay staring up at the stained ceiling, listening to him breathe against his skin. He was never going to let him go. Was not going to lose him. He was not quite sure how yet, but he was going to make his father accept him. Sam was with him now. He was part of the family. They were a family, he would make it so. He had to.

==000==

Sammie had never had a day like this.

He was sure to other people this was a commonplace day, an ordinary, possibly boring day, possibly a chore but to Sammie it was one of the best days he had ever had.

He had awoken still held in Dean's arms and as they both slowly awoke, he could not help but feel so happy at a smile on Dean's face as he gazed at him.

Finally they had undressed each other, taking the time to unveil the other, revealing their bodies to each other's eyes, to lips, as if for the very first time. Dean had then loved him, truly made love to him. It was there in the tenderness of the touch, in his gentle lips.

Dozing again, Sam had lazily allowed his fingertips to play in those hairs below Dean's navel that had him constantly entranced. He had laughed as Dean told him to 'quit it' or they would never leave the bed. He had just kissed the finely sculptured abdomen and asked, "Oh? Have you somewhere else you need to be?"

It was Dean's rumbling stomach that had finally forced them up around noon and, after a lengthy shower, they had ended sat opposite each other in the local family run diner.

Sammie had been unsure as to what the response would be but, as their emptied plates were cleared away, he asked quietly, "Dean? Please can I have some money?"

Dean had smiled and asked him, "What do you need money for?" throwing enough of the stuff down for the meal and a generous tip. He just felt that good today.

Sammie had ducked his head. He had that twenty dollars stuffed in his pocket and a little hidden in his bag but it would not go far.

Dean stood up and reached out a hand, inviting him to join him, just as he had that time before. He had no problem giving the lad cash, they were a couple now. He was just genuinely curious.

Sam pulled up the jeans he wore as he stood. "Dean," he answered with a laugh, "I'm wearing your clothes and they don't fit. You burnt mine if you remember?" The dark blond had the decency to blush sheepishly. He had obviously taken great delight in setting a flame to all those tight figure hugging, hustler, boy for sale clothes. He himself had stepped away from the bonfire, managing to hide his unease but he had been touched by the gesture. Even though Dean had left him with nothing, not even underwear. The only things to survive were the blue and white 'all stars' which he had guarded with his life. Billy had bought them for him this Christmas past despite his protests.

So, with a hair cut which Dean kept trying to touch, to run his fingers through, out in public, Sam handed him the bags stuffed with clothes from the discount store and, dodging the hand once more, laughing, saw a shop he just had to go into.

Dean stood wondering what had that beautiful face so enraptured. He glanced around but all he could see were more clothes shops, a liquor store and one selling second hand books. Turning back he asked, "What's…?" but Sam was gone and he ran to catch up with youngster as he entered the bookstore.

Now, sat here at the table back in the motel room, Sam studied the book open before him. It was a maths text book, the correct grade for his supposed age but it was a little advanced for him. He was sure that with a little hard study he would soon get it. It was not as if he had anything else to do, stuck in the back of that car. He had only been with the Winchesters for just over a week but he was already at the other side of the country. And the USA was big!

He bit at his lip. Was he always going to be in the back of that car? It did not seem as if Dean even had a home. Just like so much else, he wanted to know but was afraid to ask. It was not that he was frightened of the possible answers, he was just not sure that Dean would want him asking.

He unconsciously worried at his bottom lip. He did not want to live like that. But then again, if it was the only way he could get to live with Dean, he would not complain about it, much.

Dean was motionless, just sat gazing at Sam, the gun he had been cleaning held still in his hand. The teenager had seemed happy today, despite the bruise marring his cheek. He felt a pang of guilt, remorse that he could have damaged something so gentle, so beautiful. It made him feel crass and brutal no matter that Sammy did not appear to hold it against him. That just made it worse.

There was a slight frown marring the smooth forehead and he bit at a lip. The new hairstyle should have made him look his age but now he appeared even younger than his stated age of sixteen. He looked to be the age his brother would have been, not the year older he was. Dean dropped his gaze. Once more he found himself comparing this Sammy to the one he had lost. The one he had killed.

Was that why he was so attracted to him? To the idea of him as his father had said? Had hurled at him in accusation in fact. Maybe, he admitted, that was why he had needed so badly to take him away from that life. He did not want any sixteen year old boy to have to sell his ass on the street. But he was realistic, although he and his dad tried, they could not save everyone.

But as to why he found this boy so attractive he did not know or care. He just did.

Even now, sat here with that curious frown on his face, Dean felt aroused. No one had ever affected him like this before. He just had to stop worrying at it and enjoy. And make sure he never did anything to hurt him again. The new haircut was cute, it suited him making him look what he was now, an ordinary teenager. Dean wanted to touch it again, to run his fingers up through the long bangs, swept to the side and the longer lengths on top which led in steps to be cut short, neatly into the neck. He did not know what it was called nor did he care because it meant that Sam's neck was bare now and he could nuzzle it unimpeded.

He put the gun down, seeing Sam notice and bite the lip afresh. He could resist no longer and reaching over, ran his hand up through those bangs and asked, "What is it? What are you thinking about so hard?" his voice quite and intimate.

Sam ducked his head wondering if he dared. Dean might not like the idea, might be hurt by it. It would mean that Sam could not ride in the back of the car all the time and be available to him.

Dean's hand cupped the side of his face. "What is it?" still speaking softly, "tell me?"

Sam blinked and took a breath then spoke hesitantly, "You said you would take me anywhere I wanted to go."

Pulling his hand back quickly, Dean sat back shocked. He wanted to leave him. Already! He felt a cold pain inside swiftly spreading through his body. But he had promised. "Yes," he replied over the brick lodged in his throat.

Sam wished he had not said anything. He should not have spoken, it was far too soon. He looked down at the book. It was just a dream for someone like him.

"Tell me," Dean said. 'Get it over with' he thought. It would hurt less. He watched as Sam glanced at him then away, then again before looking at him from under that long fringe.

Quietly Sam told him his dream. "I want to go to school." Then sat waiting, staring through the maths book, hands in his lap. He waited for the derision, the refusal.

Dean was dumbstruck. He had not seen that one coming. He tilted his head, gazing at the anxious figure looking so young and vulnerable. He smiled. His mind began working furiously. It would mean they would need to find a house. Settle down in one place for months at a time, much like they had whilst he was in High School. He had missed that. Missed coming home to the same door day after day. Dad was not going to like it but then Dean would, for once, give him no choice. If that was what Sam wanted, he would make it happen.

Grinning, Dean told him, "Guess its time we got you some proper ID if we're going to enrol you?"

Sam took that as a yes and sitting up straight, returned the grin realising he had seldom, if ever, felt this happy before.

==000==

TBC...