A/N Hey y'all! I've had this story in my head for a while and I finally said to heck with it and here we are. I hope that you enjoy and I'm truly sorry if this isn't what you were looking for. I mean, if you are here for some Sam h/c then I can promise you that! (with a large helping of protective Dean on the side)

Disclaimer: not mine.

Dean is 19.

Sam is 15.

The Hidden Enemy

Chapter One

The bell chimed as Sam pushed his way into the motel office and Mrs. Atterkin looked up from where she was bent over her desk, looking at a large calendar. A wide smile crossed her face and she stood, pulling her blouse straight.

"Why, Sam, I was hoping that I would see you sometime today!" She leaned over the counter, resting her arms against the rough wooden surface. "I wouldn't want to be losing my best customer, after all."

Sam fixed his smile firmly in place. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint," he said, shrugging half-heartedly. "I—We—need the room for another six days." Dumping his tattered old backpack onto the ground, Sam carefully extracted a wad of bills held together with a rubber band. They had the distinct look of having been counted, recounted, and then counted once again.

Mrs. Atterkin busied herself penciling in the reservation, her brow furrowing. "Normally you reserve for a week out? Are you leaving?"

"Possibly," Sam said vaguely as he snapped the rubber band off the money. Shifting on the balls of his feet, he waited for her to finish.

"Alrighty, then, with tax that would be 189.45." Mrs. Atterkin looked up at him expectantly and Sam handed over the bills. He watched her count them, shifting from one foot to the other as he gnawed at his lower lip and his hands twisting together.

"I think I might be a few short…" he blurted out as she reached the end of the pile. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and quickly ducked his head, staring at the old and dying plant that decorated the corner. "Listen, just make it five days. I kinda forgot about tax and all that…"

Mrs. Atterkin frowned, recounting the bills swiftly and with practiced ease. Sam felt his face flushing even more and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Seriously, just forget about—"

"Honey, you're only short about ten dollars. I think I can overlook that this once," She smiled over the counter at him, absently tucking her dark hair behind her ear.

"No, no, I couldn't. It's fine." Sam tripped over his words as he crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest, his fist curling and uncurling.

This was so stupid. If Dad would just return his freakin' calls…

Reaching over, Mrs. Atterkin smacked his arm with her pencil. "Oh, don't give that to me. I want to do this for you, Sam. Really, let me help you."

"No, I couldn't—"

"It wasn't a question. Besides," She paused, the frown deepening as she regarded Sam. He resisted the urge to twist away underneath her gaze and settled for staring at the plant. She huffed, tapping the pencil against the counter. "Besides, don't think that I haven't noticed that your daddy hasn't been back in almost two weeks now. I haven't seen or heard that truck of his in a long time."

Sam stiffened, jumping his gaze up to her face. "He's been here. Just at night…he works all sorts of weird hours," he lied easily.

Mrs. Atterkin shrugged, looking doubtful, as she put the money into a pile. "Uh-huh. So six days puts you to April 20th."

"The 19th is five days away."

Mrs. Atterkin heaved a sigh, rubbing wearily at her face. "Honey, drop by on Saturday and you can do some yard work or watch the front desk for an hour or two." She looked over the desk at him, giving him a look that dared him to defy her. Sam grimaced but nodded.

"Thanks, Mrs. Atterkin. Really." He reached down for his backpack, desperate to be out of the stuffy room as soon as possible.

"Hey, Sam."

He turned and extended his hand for the receipt that she held out too him. She gripped it tightly, her eyes boring deep into Sam's. "I'll give your dad a week to show and then I'm going to take matters into my own hands. It wouldn't be safe for you to be out here on your own…the world is a dangerous place, after all."

A chill went up Sam's spine as he stared into her cool eyes and he broke her gaze, tugging the receipt out of her hands. "That won't be necessary. I'm fine. My dad is here. He is." The lie didn't even sound convincing to him and he spun around, eager to make it to the door.

"I'll see you Saturday, then!" Mrs. Atterkin called as the bell chimed again as Sam practically flung himself out of the room. He glanced back once, meeting her eyes through the glass panes as she stared out after him, chewing idly on the easer of her pencil.

He could feel her gaze following him across the small parking lot, past the battered Sunset Motel sign and towards number 118.

No black truck waited for him in the assigned parking spot, but then again, the spot had been empty for almost a month now. Not that Sam was keeping track. Not really.

Snorting at that, Sam twisted the key into the lock and let himself in. The door slammed shut behind him with a bang but there was no enjoyment in how loudly the sound reverberated around him. Dean wasn't there to one-up him and his father wasn't giving him that reprimanding and annoyed look, no, all that greeted him was the faltering hum of the fridge.

Dropping his backpack onto the ground with an audible thump, Sam crossed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a cupboard open. Making a face at the lack of food there, he let it slam shut before moving to the fridge. There was nothing there that held his attention and the doors sealed with a satisfying whooshing sound. Grabbing a flimsy plastic cup instead, he finally turned to the sink and let the water run longer than normal before filling it.

He never thought that the day would come when he longed for Dean's flamboyant, boisterous and annoyingly loud ways, but here he was.

Leaning back against the wall, Sam ran a hand over his face as he stared at the homemade calendar he had taped up on the wall. Dean wasn't due back for at least a week. One more long, lonely, and silent week.

Sam sank down to sit against the wall, propping his chin against his hands. He didn't think that he had ever felt so alone before, not even that time that Dean had rushed Dad to the hospital with his guts spilling out after a hunt gone wrong. Sam had been left alone for three days then with varying amounts of fear for the fate of his family but now, after almost three weeks of no contact from his small family, Sam was starting to long for those days. At least he had known where Dean and Dad where. At least Dean had picked up the phone every time he had called and kept him updated. At least he had some small portion of control and knowledge.

But that wasn't the case this time around. As a sort of very late graduating gift, John had allowed Dean to go off on a massive hunt/hiking trip with Caleb somewhere deep in the Colorado mountains. They didn't even know much about what they were hunting, just that it was old, dangerous, and hard to find. The odds hadn't worried Dean, not one bit. In fact, Sam didn't think that he had ever seen Dean as excited as he had in the weeks leading up to the hunt.

"Finally Dad's letting me go big," Dean had told him more than once as he had packed, his eyes glittering with such enthusiasm that it had torn Sam in between already missing his brother and being excited for him. He had left almost three weeks ago with the promise to call when he could, but once they had reached the mountains, well, the reception was none existent. They had planned for at least a month to find, track, and kill the monster.

Sam let his head tip back against the wall as he pulled his backpack towards him, unpacking the books with care that normally would have had Dean mocking him. He had prepared himself for Dean's departure, had even had the rare moment of excitement about having some space to breathe and be alone. He just hadn't counted on how much he would miss Dean or how much his brother had been a part of his daily life. Nor had he counted on John simply dumping him in this crappy town and then taking off for all four weeks as well.

Not for the first time, he felt the pang of both love and regret for Dean pierce his heart. Never again would he take what Dean had done for him growing up for granted. What he still did, if Sam was being honest.

Before, when Dad would disappear for weeks at a time, Sam had always had Dean with him. And on the times that Dad took Dean along, his older brother seemed to remember that there was a third member of the family that was stuck in some dingy motel room. He would call, frequently just to ask how Sam's day was, inform him that they were still alive, and then badger Sam about some girl he had met. Dean even managed to pull John's head out of the hunt for long enough to remind him that he had a second teenage son who was good for more than just research. This time, however, Sam half doubted that John was even aware of how long it had been since he had seen Sam and it most certainly hadn't crossed his mind that the money he left would have dwindled to almost nothing.

Well, now nothing, Sam reminded himself ruefully. The last of it was sitting in Mrs. Atterkin's till. Tomorrow he was going to have to stop at the supermarket, see if he could help with anything else for Mr. Larson. Not that the man paid much, but he would let him take a few groceries home. Shuddering despite the warm air, Sam wrapped his arms tighter around himself, leaving his books in a forgotten pile on the floor next to him. How Dean had done this, for years, was bewildering to him.

Dean had had both of them to look out for and had started at a much more tender age than 15.

"Just another way to be the family disappointment," Sam muttered aloud as the silence became suffocating and loud. He rested his chin on his arms, wondering not for the first time what was wrong with him that his father just couldn't get past.

His neighbors in room 119 pulled up, the truck backfiring, and Sam groaned into his arms. Soon the drunken yelling and cursing would begin…seriously, being that drunk at 4:24 in the afternoon heralded problems. At least they didn't have that issue.

Pulling himself up, Sam forced himself to gather his books and spread them out across the table. Doing homework was better than staring at the wall and waiting for his dad to call or better yet Dean. More productive as well.

Darkness had replaced the light and the clock read 3:35 am by the time that Sam's eyes had stopped focusing correctly. Rubbing ferociously at them, Sam ignored the ache of hunger in his gut and leaned the chair back on two legs as he yawned loud enough to make his jaw crack. Blinking through the wetness in his eyes, Sam twisted in the chair, making his back pop, as his eyes once again fell on the home-made calendar. He stared at it for a long moment as he rested his head on the back of the chair.

Just five more days…then Dean would call. Or he would if he had finished his hunt by then and wasn't dead.

Blowing out a long sigh, Sam rubbed a hand across his face. The bed was just a few feet away but he lacked the motivation to move his legs that far just yet. Instead, he pulled out the clunky phone that Dad had bought him almost two years ago when he had started taking Dean with him more often and leaving Sam behind.

Punching in the number without looking, Sam rested the phone against his ear and waited as it rang…and rang… and rang until finally,

This is John Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message. His father's voice was short, abrupt, and everything that you would imagine from an ex-marine. Sam heaved a sigh as he waited for the beep to sound.

"Hey, Dad. This is Sam. Your son." He couldn't quite keep the bitterness and sarcasm out of his voice and rubbed a frustrated hand across his face. Dad probably wouldn't answer out of spite alone now. "You know, if you could call and let me know that you are still alive, that would be great. Also, believe it or not, a fifteen-year-old can't just go out and make enough money to pay rent these days. But yeah. Call me." He tacked a sir on awkwardly at the end before hurriedly pressing the end button. Clenching the phone tight, he pressed the plastic against his forehead.

Another wave of emptiness washed over him and Sam found himself biting at his lower lip as he jimmied his leg against the table. He really needed to go to bed…

"Oh, whatever." Sam pulled the phone back, punching in another set of numbers from memory. This time he didn't have to wait for the ringing before the call flipped right over to the voicemail.

"This is Dean Winchester."

Sam's face split into a smile as he shook his head at his brother's typical abruptness as the automated voice began to list the steps to leave a message. Quickly ending the call, Sam blew out a long sigh and heaved himself to his feet and shuffled to the calendar. Quickly drawing an X through yet another day, Sam shut the lights off and collapsed fully clothed into his unmade bed.

The next day passed much the same as it had for the last couple of weeks. Sam spent the day in the underfunded school where overstressed teachers attempted to wrangle in overcrowded classrooms. After that, he stopped by the Larson's supermarket to do the little work that they had for him before making the trek back to the motel where he stayed up far too late reading only to have to repeat the same process again the following day.

And the day after that.

On Thursday, Sam threw caution to the wind and reminded his father (through voicemail) that over the weekend he could help out on a hunt. Surely the surprise of his younger son freely volunteering to aid in a hunt would be enough to make John either call or come back and make sure that Sam wasn't possessed or something.

By Saturday afternoon, John still hadn't called and it was with more than a little bitterness that Sam viciously pulled on his tennis shoes and an old t-shirt. Opening the door, he stepped out into the muggy April day and grimaced. Rain had fallen the night before and the humidity was thick in the air.

Crossing the small gravel parking lot, Sam pushed open the office door with only a little hesitation. The Atterkins were nice and all but… his skin crawled as he thought of their last encounter. The bell chimed loudly, announcing his presence. This time it was Mr. Atterkin who looked up from the desk but his face split into a wide grin that showed all of his teeth.

"Mrs. Atterkin said to drop by sometime today to help out for a little bit," Sam said as he held his head high despite the blush he could feel creeping across his cheeks.

"Ah," Mr. Atterkin nodded, coming around the desk. He was also sweating in the muggy room and he pushed the thin strands of his hair back. "Yes, Maria mentioned that you needed to make up some rent. We were hoping to plant some flowers right in front of the sign. Who knows, it might draw in a few more people, but we simply haven't got around to doing it."

Sam kept his opinion that the motel would still look like a dump with or without flowers to himself and nodded once. "I can do that."

"Good! Come on, I'll help you find some tools and the bulbs and put you to work." Still smiling, Mr. Atterkin led him into the back and to a rack of tools. He had just enough time to explain what flowers he wanted planting when the door chimed again and he hurried off, leaving Sam to gather them himself.

With his arms full, Sam pushed open the door that led back outside.

The sun was beating unmercifully down and Sam aimed a glare as he knelt in the dirt next to the dingy Sunset Motel sign. The sunbaked earth was dry and cracked and Sam had a strong suspicion that the flowers would die as soon as the bulbs hit the ground. They would never see the light of day, rather like any of Dean's deep emotions. A grin flickered to life as he thought of the face Dean would pull if he knew that he was being compared to something as girly as flowers.

Still…who was Sam was to complain if he was going to get another day in the motel out of this. Not that he would have needed it if Dad would pull his act together and actually be a Dad. As it was, after tonight he was going to have to spend the night on park benches or in an abandoned home. The anger at his father was bubbling up and he attacked the nearest group of dead weeds. Sam wasn't going to talk to John for a month when his Dad finally showed up and from past experience, he knew that it would drive John crazy.

Dean might not even play peacemaker this time, not after he learned that John had left Sam alone. The thought made Sam smirk, attacking the plants with more vigor than before.

He was fighting against the last of the stubborn tumbleweeds when a shadow fell over him, blocking the rays of the sun. Wiping his arm across his forehead, Sam glanced up. Mrs. Atterkin was standing over him, a tall glass of lemonade in her hands.

Sam let go of the weed and quickly stood, brushing his dirt-smudged hands off on his sweats in an attempt to clean them. It didn't work very well.

"I thought you might be thirsty. Besides, you look ready for a break," Mrs. Atterkin smiled down at him, extending the cup. Sam tried once more to wipe his hands clean before excepting the cup and taking a sip. He froze, swallowing awkwardly as bitterness flooded across his tongue and smothered a cough.

"That's...good. Thank you," Sam said and forced himself to take another sip as Mrs. Atterkin beamed at him.

"Oh, trust me, it was no problem." Mrs. Atterkin brushed his words aside as she moved to examine Sam's work. "Has your daddy been back yet?"

Sam's shoulders stiffened and he hurriedly finished drinking from the glass, focusing on the bitter tang of the lemonade. Lowering it, he finally raised his eyes to meet hers. "Yeah, he came back a few days ago but had to leave again. There was this emergency—"

"Do you have any other family?" Mrs. Atterkin broke him off and Sam's stomach dropped.

"My dad didn't abandon me," he said coolly, dropping back to his knees and picking up the small shovel, attacking the dirt intently. "Everything is perfectly fine."

"Don't lie to me, Sam…" Something in Mrs. Atterkin's tone made Sam look up, startled. Her eyes held something…something dark that he had only ever seen in the monsters that he hunted. Fear pitted in his stomach as everything began to scream that something was off, that something was very wrong.

"I'm not lying." Sam's mouth was suddenly dry as he surged up to his feet, gripping the shovel in one hand. If dad had taught him anything it was to trust his gut instinct and right now his gut was screaming at him to leave. Mrs. Atterkin sighed, bending down so that she and Sam were at eye level. Sam stood firm, jutting out his chin as he glared into her slanted grey eyes.

"You don't have anyone, do you ?" She asked sweetly and Sam fought the urge to inch backward.

"My dad's due back anytime now." He clutched the shovel tighter, steadying his breathing even as his heart pounded away in his chest. Dean would have been proud, Sam thought distractedly as Mrs. Atterkin shook her head sadly.

"No, honey, I don't think he is. He's left you alone in the world. No one is left to miss you." Her smile had never seemed more plastic and Sam backed up a step, fumbling around the sign and putting it between them.

"You know nothing—nothing—about my family." Sam kept retreating, not letting his eyes move from her's. "Thanks for letting me work for the extra day but I don't need it anymore." Mrs. Atterkin's remained where she was at, her eyes following his movement with a calmness that made Sam's stomach churn. Turning briskly, he bolted back towards 118 and locked the door behind him.

He could be packed and on the road within ten minutes, after that he would call Dad. Forget sleeping on park benches, he was going to ask him where he was at and then hitchhike out there to meet him. Surely Dad would answer a plea like that. He couldn't ignore it…could he?

Swearing violently under his breath with words that would have made Dean beam, Sam ripped the calendar from the wall and folded it quickly, shoving it into the small inside pocket of his duffle bag. Dean would hopefully be back in a few days and he would answer his calls, even if dad wouldn't…If he's not dead, that is.

That fear jumped to the forefront of his mind but Sam forcibly pushed it back and locked it away. Dean was fine, now was not the time.

Cursing his father, Sam began to shove his jeans into the bottom of the bag. There was a crash from 119 and Sam whirled around, the gun that Dad had left behind held firm in his hands. The sudden movement made his head spin and Sam rubbed his arm over his eyes, trying to get them to focus. His next-door neighbors began to laugh, sounding slightly drunk, and Sam lowered the gun as he moved back towards the bathroom.

The room tilted and Sam flung out a hand, catching himself against the door. What the hell…? Blinking, Sam staggered into the bathroom and braced himself against the sink. The floor lurched underneath his feet, threatening to send him crashing to the floor and the only thing that kept him upright was sheer stubbornness.

The realization came fast and bitter. He shouldn't have drunk the lemonade…

Tucking the gun into the back of his waistband, Sam forced himself to return to the main room. Zipping his duffle shut with little care for the fact that some of his belongings were still scattered across the room, Sam made for the door. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find a safe place to crash before…before…

His legs gave out halfway across the room and Sam tumbled to the floor. The room whirled around him and Sam closed his eyes as he struggled to free his gun. His hand closed around his cellphone instead and Sam desperately tore it free, glancing up at the door every few seconds in an earnest attempt at defense.

The screen was blurry and Sam squinted, trying frantically to see the numbers but it was to no avail. "C'mon, C'mon…" Sam could feel his heart pounding an irregular tattoo against his ribs and fought the urge to throw up as he jabbed at the speed dial. There was no ringing when he brought the phone up to his ear and his brother's comforting voice was not coming through the speaker.

The scraping of the lock outside the door made Sam's head jerk up and he dropped the phone as he scrambled for his gun instead. Fumbling off the safety, he heard the door swing open. His arms seemed impossibly heavy as he lifted the gun, attempting to put a bead on Mrs. Atterkin. Her face was obscured by the sunlight pouring in to the previous dim room and Sam flinched back.

"You're not going to shoot me." Her words dripped with a sweetness that made Sam want to gag and he tried to focus, tried to aim. The gun went off but Mrs. Atterkin didn't appear phased at all. She waltzed over towards him as Sam's arm became too heavy to hold the gun. It fell to the floor with a clatter and Sam tipped over to land alongside it. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was Mrs. Atterkin crouching next to him, a small smile playing out on her face.

TBC...

Thanks for reading! I hope that you enjoyed and that it made sense. :) I would love to hear your thoughts. Any at all, I'm not picky. ;)

Stay safe!