HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JENSEN ACKLES!

This chapter is mainly about Dean - it is Jensen's birthday after all. (Hope you guys don't mind.) ;) There'll be more about Tina and Sam in chapter eleven.

I use two German words in this chapter. Here's the translation: 'verstanden' means understood and 'gut' means good.

Thanks to those who have reviewed anonymously. Unfortunately it's not possible to reply to those of you who haven't given your email address so I can't thank you personally. But I want to let you know that I'm most grateful for all your comments!

Oh, and let me know how I'm doing with this. Review!

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CHAPTER TEN

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

SAM

"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow." -- William Shakespeare

Sam was still on her couch watching TV when Tina got home. He'd obviously been waiting for her. She took off her coat and grabbed a hanger from the clothes rack and did a double take. The hangers were all assorted by colour - Sam's doing for sure. Obsessive-compulsive much, Tina thought fondly and smirked. She hung her coat over the green hanger she was holding and hung it between the black and red hangers.

"Sam what are you still doing here? And why are my coat hangers assorted by colour?" The last question was said in a joking tone as she entered the living room.

Sam turned to her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "I have to tell you something," he said softly, "And you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Sam is something wrong?" she asked, instantly concerned. She sat down next to him; a pair of blue eyes searching his brown for any sign of distress. Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"Promise you won't tell anyone," he repeated.

Tina didn't like to make promises like that when she had no idea how she'd react. But this was Sam and when Sam, who usually told her everything, was suddenly hesitant to tell her something it was very unnerving.

Worry gripping her heart, she nodded slowly.

"Okay, I promise."

Sam's eyes dropped to his fingers drawing circles on the cushion he was half sitting on and his voice wavered a little as he began to speak; "You know Rick?"

Tina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah?…" What about him?

Sam twirled the tassels on the cushion and then looked at her. "He thinks we're brothers."

What?! "Come again?"

"Tina, Rick was also adopted. He told me he had a younger brother whose name was Samuel who was born the same year as me. He asked me if I had a birthmark under my foot because his brother had it." Sam was talking fast, words stumbling. He didn't have to explain about the birthmark because Tina knew it was there. "And I have an older brother. Mom told me once."

Tina didn't know what to say. But random coincidence came to mind.

"Sam, look, Rick--"

"Dean." Sam corrected her.

"What?"

"His real name is Dean."

Tina shot him a weird look. "Uh, okay, Dean then. Dean might have had a brother called Samuel but just because you were also adopted doesn't mean it's you."

"But--"

She held up a hand in indication that she wasn't finished.

"…I know that you think the birthmark proves it all. But it doesn't. It's just happenstance. Many people have birthmarks in weird places. I'm sure you're not the only Samuel who has a birthmark on the sole of your foot."

Tina hated to burst his bubble like that but she didn't want him to get his hopes up either. Sam had always wondered about his biological family. He'd asked her and his parents on several occasions where he came from, who his real family was and why he'd been adopted. She knew he was just trying to find his place in the world. He deserved answers. But unfortunately she had none to offer. As far as his past was concerned she'd also been kept in the dark.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

DEAN

"The only way around is through." -- Robert Frost

He entered the house with slow, heavy steps. Sundays were usually good days. He'd work for five hours at the auto shop, earn some much needed cash and, best of all, get some hours away from the house and Reinhold and Marcus. But today was no such day. The second he'd set foot inside the auto shop Bill had been on him, all concerned and worried and wanting to drive him to the hospital. Dean had politely declined, saying he was fine and that it wasn't as bas as it looked. Bill, like everyone else, had seriously doubted that but he was a good guy, he didn't push. But, he had refused to let Dean stay at the shop and had told him to go home to rest and heal up. So here he was. Back at the House of Horrible – and way too early for a Sunday.

"Ulrich is that you?!" It was his foster mom Martha who called.

Dean cringed, he wasn't sure he could take another confrontation. "Yeah, it's me!"

He walked through the hall and paused by the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe as he watched Martha prepare lunch. She cut up some bread, stirred something in the pot on the stove and then turned to look at him.

"Your father was angry with you this morning," she stated. She knew Dean knew why.

He shifted positions awkwardly - it was becoming harder and harder to keep upright. His knees were slowly giving in to his weight and were beginning to buckle underneath him.

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his legs and leaned heavier on the doorpost. The sudden weakness in his limbs didn't alarm him. He just figured an eight hour walk could do that to your body. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She walked up to him and grabbed him by the arm. She was holding on mighty tight - as if she wanted to hurt him. "Ulrich…" Her voice trailed off as she sighed softly…sadly. "Haven't you had enough already? Did you really have to anger him further?"

Dean looked at her surprised and could not find the words to reply. She had never shown him any concern before. Never. So why now?

"Uh…," he stammered as her fingers clawed into his arm. She glared at him before releasing him with a small push.

"Sit down," she said gently, "Your father wants to have a talk with you."

Dean resisted the urge to snort in her face. Talk? Sure, if by talk she meant with the fists, maybe he'd believe it. But he didn't open his mouth. He wasn't stupid. She was right. There was no reason to anger the monster further. So he made his way to kitchen table, biting hard into his lip to take his mind off the pain in his legs, and sat down with a slight wince.

She remained at the door and called out for Reinhold. Dean's left ear caught the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall and then he heard the heavy steps of his foster dad. He swallowed hard.

Martha turned to him, eyes pausing at his battered face, before looking away. Dean watched as she more or less tip-toed back to the stove to cook their meal and realized that she too was afraid of Reinhold. Afraid of him. Or afraid of what he might do.

Dean's eyes darted to the tablecloth when Reinhold entered the kitchen. Eyes downcast was an effective way of showing submission – less manifestations of defiance, less of a fight, less of a punishment. He waited for a slap or a hair pull but instead Reinhold sat down across from him and rested his large hands on the table in front of him.

"Look at me."

Dean shifted his gaze and looked up at the man slowly. Reinhold was calm when he continued to speak.

"You've been with us for ten years now."

Dean nodded, not sure what the man was getting at. Reinhold leaned forward, his face edging closer and closer to Dean's until Dean could feel the man's small puffs of air on his face. He fought the instinct to flinch back.

"A person from the Child Protective Services will visit us in a couple of days," Reinhold told him. Dean relaxed visibly and waited for the man to continue. "If they start asking questions…"

"I know," Dean replied quickly. And he knew alright. We're like the Bradys and I was just mugged. Remarkably enough, the CPS assholes bought it every time.

Reinhold seemed contempt with the answer and nodded appreciatively. "You don't speak unless you're asked a direct question. Verstanden?"

"Verstanden."

"Gut."

-----

Dean decided to go to bed after lunch. He was beat – in more ways than one. He excused himself from the table and hurried towards his room. His legs were shaking so bad he almost didn't make it. He slumped down on his bed with a sigh of relief and stretched out. His eyelids slipped closed and before he knew it he was asleep.

-----

Silence. Darkness. His head was throbbing and his ear hurt. He moved a sluggish hand to feel his right ear but a clink of metal stopped him. He realized his arms and legs were shackled to the floor and gasped. He pulled at the chains in panic and then laughter broke the silence. He tensed and looked around fearfully. Nothing. No-one. He was alone. Something was running out of his ear in a steady stream. His fingers touched his ear that was wet and sticky. He brought his hand to his face to stare at the blood in amazement. Blood continued to run from his ear at an alarming speed. He was beginning to feel faint. The blood continued to flow freely down his neck, his shoulder and down his arm and incredulous he stared as a puddle of blood formed on the floor by his hand. He wondered if it was even possible to bleed that much from your ear. It felt like all the blood in his body was running out of his ear and collecting in that puddle beside him. He slapped his hand over his ear to stop the blood flow but the blood continued to pump out of his ear in a steady rhythm, running between his fingers. Then something slammed into him with the force of a full speed train. He screamed…

-----

He woke up with a scream of agony to find himself on the floor by his bed. He sat up and moved his hand to his ear tentatively to check for blood. There was none and he risked a deep breath to calm himself. The pain was instant and he winced. Why does it hurt so much to breathe?

He stood up slowly with the support of the bed, only to slump down on it when his legs suddenly gave way beneath him. Completely exhausted, he curled up and closed his eyes.

"Hey, man."

Dean opened his eyes at the sound of his friend's voice. Kyle? Crap. He didn't want him here. He was tired of having to explain his bruises to people and sick of having to lie to his friends. He turned his back to the door and crept under the covers.

"What are you doing here Kyle?"

He heard Kyle snort. "What am I doing here? What the fuck do you think I'm doing here?! I've been trying to reach you for two days, man! I was at the auto shop today and Bill told me he'd sent you home. So I call here, again, like ten minutes ago, and your mom tells me you're not home. Why haven't you hit me back? Didn't she tell you I called?"

Dean heard Kyle cross the room and tensed. Kyle's steps were determined – him finding out was inevitable now. He struggled to sit up and turned to his friend with a blank expression. Kyle did a double take and then froze, his eyes widening.

"Shit…IN A HUGE PILE! Dude, you look like you were just hit by a train. You okay?"

Dean snorted at that. Feels like it too, buddy. "Yeah, I'm alright. I, um, was--"

Kyle held up his hand in a gesture for him to stop talking. "You don't have to tell me, man."

Relief washing over him, Dean smiled gratefully. "Okay."

Kyle leaned against the wall with a soft smile. "Looks like you're gonna be staying in bed for a couple of days. You wanna borrow my Nintendo 64?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

SAM

"Sam, I'm not so sure this will work."

"Of course it will." Sam pushed Tina up one more step. They were ascending the grand staircase to the upper floor of the small castle that was his parents' house. Tina was hesitating on every step but Sam kept pushing her slowly but resolutely upwards. "You just have to distract my dad long enough for me to go through his files."

Tina clung desperately to the banister. "I could get fired over this. And we don't even know if they have your birth certificate."

"Yes, they do," he grunted as he tried to pry her hands away from the banister. "It was an open adoption and they probably needed my birth certificate when they changed my last name." He pushed Tina up the remaining steps and looked at her with sad puppy eyes. "Please."

She groaned. "Okay…" Sam squealed with joy and gave her a bone-crushing hug. Tina returned the hug. "But I swear to God, if you use that wounded puppy look on me again..." she warned.

"I won't."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

DEAN

He hung up the phone and rubbed a trembling hand over his face. He'd been right. Sam had just called him and verified that he had in fact been Samuel Winchester before being adopted, and in his birth certificate were also the names of his biological parents John and Mary Winchester. John and Mary…the names that still lingered on his mind and haunted him in his dreams. So it was true. Sam really was his brother. Sammy.

His legs shook violently under him and leaning against the wall he slid down to the floor quickly. Sammy, I can't believe I found you. He broke into hysterical laughter suddenly. It was the kind of laugh that sounded like crying and he laughed until tears ran in streaks down his bruised face. Then the hysterical laughter morphed into silent, helpless sobs as he shrunk in on himself, hugging his legs tightly.

-----

Marcus sneered at him as he lay on his back, trying desperately not to choke on his own vomit, his eyes tearing up at the effort.

"Turn him over." It was Hank.

Dean was pulled to the side by rough hands. He gurgled weakly and reached to remove the cloth from his mouth so he could breathe. But someone grabbed his hand and twisted his arm behind his back. He cried out. Panicking.

-----

His eyes shot open and he realized he was panting heavily. It hurt his lungs and he coughed helplessly. Another nightmare. He couldn't sleep without having one anymore. He got out of bed with much effort and then pulled on Sam's sweater over the t-shirt he was wearing. There was just no way he was going back to sleep. He'd go for another walk.

He ignored the dizziness and his shaking legs and walked out through the front door. The night was cold and his breath came out in little puffs of white air. He crossed the lawn and stopped by the nearest street lamp. He felt funny, weird, like removed from his body or something. His eyes trailed upwards and he stared straight into the light. Little dots the colour of the rainbow danced before his eyes and he watched them, mesmerized by their beauty. Then, just like that, everything went black and he fell headlong to the hard asphalt. He was unconscious before he hit ground.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

JOHN

"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family." -- Anthony Brandt

John stopped the car across the street from the yellow shack of a house and peered through the window. The house was dark - the Schmidt family probably all asleep by now. He studied each window carefully, trying to guess which was the window to Dean's room. He wondered what Dean looked like. He'd always looked like Mary. Did he still? Did he still have her smile? Was his hair still light like hers? Were his eyes still as expressive as hers?

He was broken from his reverie by a door slamming shut. His gaze fell upon a teenager walking down the front steps of the yellow house. His heart skipped a beat. That could be Dean, he realized. Maybe it is him. He rolled down the window and leant out to have a closer look at the boy but it was too dark to make anything out.

He watched the boy cross the lawn and stop by a street lamp. He looked on in fascination as the boy breathed little puffs of condensation. It was a peaceful sight. The boy looked up slowly and stared straight into the bright light of the street lamp and John followed his gaze breathlessly.

Suddenly there was a loud thud of something hitting ground and John's eyes darted to the boy. The dark silhouette was no longer standing but lying sprawled on the ground. John gasped and fumbled to open the car door. He stumbled out and ran across the street towards the boy. He reached him just as the boy started seizing. He fell to his knees beside the boy and gasped at the sight of his battered face.

"What the…?"

His hands were trembling when he reached to touch the boy's face. It was Dean. There was no question about it. He still looked like Mary, even with his face so badly beaten. John felt the bile rise in his throat and he gagged.

"Dean… Oh, God," he whispered softly, stroking his son's cheek.

White foam was forming at the corner of Dean's mouth and he grimaced. The seizures had stopped but Dean was still unconscious. Without thinking John slid his hands under Dean's shoulders and legs and lifted him carefully. His son weighed practically nothing and it scared the hell out of John. He hurried to the car and gently placed his son in the backseat. Dean was starting to come to, eyes moving under closed eyelids, his breathing becoming more even. He moaned softly. John stroked his hair soothingly and kissed him on the forehead.

"Sssh, it's okay, Dean. I'm taking you to the hospital. You're gonna be alright." He fetched a blanket from the trunk and put it over Dean's shivering body. "You're gonna be alright, son."

Seven minutes later they were at the hospital.

John carried a half conscious Dean into the ER, screaming for someone to help them. After seeing Dean's battered and broken body, he was quickly put on a gurney by medical staff and whisked away from John.

John stared after them in shock; at a loss for words and at a loss for what to do. A nurse walked up to him and asked him for the patient's name and if he knew whether the boy was allergic to any medicines. John hesitated, not sure which name to give her, but then quickly decided to go with the name Dean's foster parents had given him. After all, Dean was theirs for now and the CPS' visit was still to come.

"Ulrich," he told the nurse softly, "Ulrich Schmidt."

"Are you family?"

He shook his head slowly, and his heart broke at the lie. "Neighbour," he forced out. The nurse scribbled down Dean's name on the paper she was holding and turned to look at John again.

"So you don't know if he's allergic to anything?"

He shook his head again, and it was the truth this time. He didn't know anymore what his sons were allergic to, what their favorite food was or what their hobbies were. He didn't know his sons. Not anymore.

The nurse nodded slowly and then turned to leave. John grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss. When can I see him?"

She raised an eyebrow and shot him a weird look. "You can't, sir. Only family allowed." She brushed her hair away from her eyes. "The doctor has some questions. He will be with you shortly."

TBC (Dean's secret is revealed. But who find(s) out?)

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