Author Note: I posted two chapters today so if you skipped to the last chapter, you may want to go back and read chapter 36 before this. Also, I'm sure the law is far less lax than this, please just excuse that. I really didn't want to write court scenes or things like that.
Dean followed his last client downstairs, hoping to get a drink and a chance to empty the toilet bucket before it overflowed. He hobbled down the stairs, wincing lightly each time another spike of pain made itself felt. With any luck, the damn bleeding would stop before it stained the seat of his dull grey trousers a rusty brown. To be fair, he'd kind of been asking for it. Dean had never quite managed to master the art keeping his trap shut.
"So you're my date for tonight?" The client asks, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his pressed shirt. It looks like he's rolling about in it, going by the Rolex he's got hanging off his wrist. Add to that a strong jawline and just the right amount of stubble and girls would probably even consider him handsome... if it weren't for the fact those cold eyes would have anyone with two legs and half a brain running in the opposite direction.
Dean vaguely remembers something he'd read a while back about psychopaths having personality traits that make it easier to rise up the corporate ladder. This, combined with the decidedly sinister air that follows this man like cologne, has Dean saying, "Yeah, probably the only one that's not required Rohypnol."
Dean knows he's just booked himself a one-way ticket to Hell but even then he can't help but return the man's glare. That just pisses him off further and all small talk ends for the night.
Half an hour later, when the man finally gets off Dean's back, when Dean's run out of tears and snot and swears, he slaps Dean's thigh and admires his handiwork. "You'll think of me tonight."
'Yeah, I'll burn a fucking effigy of yours' Dean thinks, "I'll make a voodoo doll and stick pins up its fucking jacksie.'
But this time, he stays silent.
Rex Hall was busy counting the money downstairs and writing down the figures on a pad of paper next to him.
"I need to empty mum and Sam's toilet bucket," Dean said quietly, leaning against the sink as he took large gulps of water to drown out the aftertaste of semen. How the hell did it taste so vile when more than half of it was sugar?
Rex's eye twitched with badly hidden rage. "Don't stand in your father's house and call that whore 'mum'."
Dean stemmed the urge to throw the glass at the man. "I spent fourteen years trying to follow orders, trying to make up for something I hadn't even known I'd done, and it was never enough." His grip on the tumbler tightened. "And that woman in the basement? She took me in despite knowing how fucked up I was. She and Dad have never laid a finger on me. God knows I deserved it. I nearly got their son killed twice, I've broken their stuff and I've even stolen their food. You'd have butchered me and buried the body by now. But they don't even yell. They just sit me down and talk to me and forgive me over and over again. So fuck you, yeah I'll call her mum." Dean knew he should probably stop-Christ, he wasn't an idiot-but he couldn't hold back. "Besides, you're not my father. You're my pimp."
Before he'd even had a second to catch his breath, Rex's hands were wrapped around Dean's throat. His lungs screamed in panic and his vision began to swim as he was slowly lifted up onto his toes by the strong grip.
"Well if I'm no more than your pimp I should get Sammy whoring for me too then. Doubling up my money sounds like a good idea to me. I'm sure he'll break real pretty." There was a malicious glint in those cold green eyes that told Dean he'd taken it too far.
Rex let go with one hand and pulled out his mobile phone, starting to scroll through the contacts as Dean's limp hands scrabbled at his fingers. "I'll just send a call through to Terry. I'm sure he'll have just as much fun tearing up little Sammy as he did with you."
There was no saving Sam now.
He recalls the world the djinn had created for him. Sam, a broken shell of the boy he knows, telling him with dead eyes to leave the money on the table. Sam, no longer having dreams of becoming a lawyer or asking Jessica to the prom, coldly informing him that he won't do anything without protection. That boy wasn't Sam. It couldn't have been. That boy no longer had the ability to hope.
Rex Hall has taken away Dean's childhood and innocence. He's taken away his dignity and self-worth. He's taken away all hopes of a future with the girl he loves. And Dean will give them all again if needed.
Dean is a whore. A prostitute. A beat up hooker.
Dean is a failure. The Ralph Wiggum of the class. The kid no one wants to adopt.
Dean is free labour. The one that does the housework. The one you can lay into if you've had a bad day.
Dean may be all of these. But above all, Dean is a big brother.
His arms shot up above his head and his forearms came slamming down on Rex's elbows. The man grunted and leaned in, loosening his grip and yet not letting go. The mobile phone fell out of his hand and clattered uselessly on the kitchen floor. Dean fought to stay conscious as he drove his knee up into the man's crotch.
Rex let out a garbled yell as his other hand fell away from Dean's neck and clutched his groin.
"You. Will. Not. Hurt. Sammy." Dean growled, each word being punctuated by a solid punch. Dean put all the reserves of his strength into landing the hits again and again and again, recalling what Priya had told him about tucking his thumbs in and rotating his body to put more force behind each strike.
This is for making me into a whore.
A quick uppercut.
That's for keeping my family in the basement.
A solid right hook.
And this is for making me believe for all these years that I was a murderer.
A reverse punch to the gut.
Skin had started peeling off his knuckles, giving way to gristle and bone. But Dean didn't care. Because, after seventeen years, he finally felt free.
When Rex seemed to be out cold, Dean ran to the basement door and reached into his left pocket. From inside, he pulled out two paperclips. The small scraps of metal had been his solace ever since he'd started carrying them, knowing that there would always be a way to pick locks, always a way to escape burning metal handcuffs.
He quickly straightened them and then folded the very end with his teeth. Desperately trying to recall how he used to do this, he slid the larger clip in and twisted it to create a tension wrench. Once that was set, he gently probed the pins with the smaller clip, hoping to feel a little of the tension give.
This continued for a good minute as his trembling hands felt out the five pins inside and slid them into the correct positions. Once done, the larger pin turned completely and the lock clicked open. Dean checked once over his shoulder to make sure that Rex was still out before slowly turning the knob and opening the door.
"Sam?" He called out into the shadows.
There was no reply. Instead, he heard quick footsteps and before he knew it, several arms were enveloping him in asphyxiating hugs. He fought his initial urge to fight off his attackers and slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around the two bodies.
"You're okay, you're okay," came the repeated litany from his brother.
"Yeah Sammy, 'm fine," Dean whispered back.
Mrs Winchester took a step back and appraised him. "I heard you say to not hurt Sam and then there were just the sound of hits and we had no clue if it was you or him or anything and oh god I was going crazy with worry-"
"Shh," Dean soothed her panicked words, meeting her gaze with a steady one of his own. "I'm really sorry about what I put you guys through, I-"
A weak spark of anger flared up in Mrs Winchester's eyes. "I swear to God, Dean, if you apologise one more time for anything… If anyone's to blame, apart from the man out there," she tilted her head towards the basement door, "it's me. Hell, I've spent the last year avoiding all conversations about your past. I never even bothered to check if Rex had been arrested, I'd just guessed he had."
"'S not your fault. I never wanted to talk about it anyway," Dean said roughly. "Forget it. Right now we need to get you guys out of here. I don't know how long he'll stay out."
Dean started to move towards the door with his mum in tow when Sam beat him to it. The kid was as fast as an eel, slipping out of the door and down the hallway.
"Wow, he's eager to leave," Dean shrugged, before holding his mum's hand and guiding her up the steps towards the light.
At the top, he paused at the sound of fists on skin and what sounded like Sam yelling. In a panic, he let go of Mrs Winchester and ran into the living room, hoping against hope that it wasn't what it sounded like.
It wasn't.
He'd been terrified to find Rex Hall, up and angry, pounding into his little brother. Instead, in front of him was a furious Sam Winchester, red-faced and narrow-eyed, kicking at the unconscious body of his brother's pimp.
"You bastard! You made him do all those…" Another strike to the man's stomach. "All those… things." Sam paused to shudder with revulsion.
Dean rushed forward and grabbed his brother to drag him away. "Sam! You'll kill him."
"I don't care, I want to!" Sam struggled against Dean's weakened grip.
"Yeah but he's just human! He's just-"
At that point, there came a knock at the door. Both boys paused and looked towards the source of the sound.
"If that's another rapist I swear I'll beat the shit out of him too." Sam spoke with a finality that scared Dean. Who'd have guessed there was that much rage hidden within his floppy-haired baby brother?
He used the word rapist. Why? Why not client or customer or-
His thoughts were interrupted when their mum peered through the peephole in the door and called back, "It's Michael."
She was looking frantically for the keys when Dean brushed passed her and pulled out the paperclips again.
"Huh," his mum shrugged, "I found those in the lining of your pyjamas when I got them out of the wash. I was going to ask you about them."
"Yeah well," Dean grunted as the first pin slid into place, "when you've been handcuffed to red-hot radiators, you learn to carry around ways to get out."
Dean glanced at Mrs Winchester, but she just looked sadder than ever, so he turned back around and started working on the second pin. Slowly, he felt a little give as the pins slid into place once again.
"I'm gonna have so many fruit smoothies when I get back," Sam said to their mum, "I need to get the taste of ready meals out of my mouth."
"Don't we all?" said Dean. The last pin slid home and the thicker paperclip twisted with a click. He wrenched the door open and saw his dad stood a few metres away, looking confused.
"How did you do that?" he asked. "I could hear your voices from inside. I was just about to try ramming it down."
Mrs Winchester gave a weak laugh. "Good luck with that," she said, before wrapping her arms around her husband and whispering into his hair. "I was so scared. You don't know what I've heard over these last few days. You don't know what they did to our baby."
Dean listened to the quiet exchange and felt guilt spread its thin tendrils throughout his gut. He couldn't be the Heathcliff of the family anymore.
"You guys had better go, he'll wake up soon and he'll be pissed," Dean looked out into the distance as he spoke, not wanting to make the goodbye any more painful than it already was. He'd come into the Winchester household with a number promises to himself.
I will make this a fresh start.
I will behave and not be trouble.
I will leave my past behind me.
I will not trust these people.
I will not grow attached.
I will not allow myself to feel at home.
Each, in turn, had been broken. These people were everything Dean hadn't expected, and Dean was everything they'd hoped he wasn't.
"Sorry for calling you mum," whispered Dean, before turning back around to close the door on the closest thing he'd had to happiness.
Dean was ashamed to admit it, but the tears started soon after Mrs Winchester had gently laid a hand on his shoulder, turned him around, and said softly, "Hey, remember what I said about not apologising? You're my son, Dean Winchester, and nothing makes me prouder than to be your mother."
"We're not leaving you with him, Dean." Mr Winchester gave Dean what was probably intended as a smile but came out more like a grimace. "I'll send a call through to the police," he said as he stepped into the house and entered the living room. "Are these the handcuffs he used on you?" he asked, picking them up off the mantelpiece.
Dean nodded absentmindedly. "What will you say if you call the police? Do we lie and say I never knew him?"
His dad looked up from where he was busily handcuffing Rex to the radiator. "No Dean, we tell the truth. Any repercussions about your forged papers will be faced by me." The metal clicked into place and Mrs Winchester pocketed the key. "I'm quite tempted to turn the heating on to be honest. Give the bastard a taste of his own medicine."
Dean shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for his new dad to repeat his old dad's actions, no matter how badly he wanted to hurt the son of a bitch lying on the floor.
Not that it matters. He's not likely to be your dad much longer. The police are going to arrive, take you away to the social services where you can be paraded in front of uninterested couples once again, and you'll never see the Winchesters again.
What if they arrest Mr Winchester for the forged documents?
Dean felt the burden of guilt drop heavily onto his shoulders for the hundredth time that day. He stood in stony silence as they waited for the cops, trying to take in every detail about the people around him so he had something to remember them by.
In the end, Dean needn't have worried. The police were far too interested in gathering all available evidence of Dean's extensive client list to give Mr Winchester any more than a stern telling off and excusing him on the basis of exceptional circumstances. They then escorted Dean into a separate room to take a statement (which he doubted they'd even need. There was no way Rex Hall wouldn't enter into a plea bargain and trade in some years of his sentence for more names from his paedophile ring), and ask a couple of questions.
'Do you want to lodge a complaint against Mr and Mrs Pyper?'
'Do you want to continue to live with the Winchesters or do you want to be taken in by the social services?'
The policeman looks young and tired out, like he was well overdue for a cup of coffee. His voice is clinical and yet kind, a far cry from the only other policeman Dean's ever known. Dean almost feels bad for the guy. He was probably at home with his wife (by the looks of the wedding band on his finger), enjoying an evening in, when he got called to work to sort out some bizzaro paedophile ring case which involves a dirty little kid that snarls when touched. This was probably not what he'd signed up to the force for.
Dean thinks about the questions and ends up asking, "Will the social services even take me in now I'm over sixteen?"
The officer gives a half-hearted shrug. "They have exceptional cases turn up from time to time."
In the end, Dean had answered in the negative for the former question and the affirmative for the latter. Later, as the police took statements from Sam and his mum, Dean stood by and wondered if he'd made the right decision.
He didn't doubt his first answer. No matter what the Pypers had done to him, they were still Max's parents and that kid didn't deserve to see his parents taken away from him. Besides, the Pypers could afford to hire the best lawyers in town. No one was going to win a case against them. And what had they even done, anyway? A couple of hits and a few days without food? It wasn't worth whining over.
It was his answer to the second question that had him thinking. It all came down to the wording. Did he want to continue living with the Winchesters? Hells yeah. Should he continue living with them? Probably not.
Once the police were done with them, they were told to take Dean to the hospital. Dean walked over to the Impala with the help of his dad, wincing as he neared the leather seats.
"I'm not gonna be able to sit down on that," he mumbled, blushing furiously.
His mum's glance flew down to the rapidly growing stain on his trousers and back up again in a fraction of a second, her eyes swimming with sorrow. "It's okay, just lie down or something."
"Where's Sam gonna sit then?" asked Dean.
Sam went around the car and sat on the opposite side at the back. "You can put your head in my lap, I don't mind."
Dean shrugged and eased himself in. He lay on his side, trying not to trap the hand with the recently dislocated fingers, and rested his head on Sam's jeans. "I feel like I'm freakin' five," he grumbled.
"Does this mean I get to feed you chicken soup again?" Dean could hear the hint of a grin in Sam's voice.
"Don't bet on it." Dean mumbled as he ran his fingers over the leather of the front bench. He'd really missed the sound of the throttle, the way the car shook as it came alive. Its rhythmic humming, combined with the exhaustion of everything that had occurred, had Dean slipping away slowly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Author Note: I'll be back around 11th August. See you all then!