Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

This story is unbeta'ed. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Sam gasped, sitting up in the bed. He looked around, trying to take in his surroundings. It was dark. It took Sam a moment for his eyes to adjust. Dull red light illuminated the room. Finding its source, Sam saw that it was a digital clock. It was a little after three in the morning.

Taking a deep breath, Sam was about to lay back down.

"You, okay?" Dean's sleepy voice broke through the silence.

"Dean," Sam's voice yelped.

Dean's brow furrowed when he heard the tense tone in his brother's voice. Sitting up, totally awake.

"Sammy," Dean turned on the lamp on the nightstand between their beds. "What's wrong?"

Seeing the room, Sam remembered he was with Dean and not in the shelter. His relief was palpable. Tears burned his throat that he was with his brother.

"Uh, n..nothing," Sam sighed. "Bad dream."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, lying back down.

Dean watched his brother lay down, and he could see the glaze in Sam's eyes. Dean got up and went to Sam's bed.

"Slide over," Dean ordered, tapping Sam on his shoulder.

"What?"

Dean waved his hand. Sam slid over to make room for Dean. Dean sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What is it?" Dean asked softly.

"It's nothing," Sam said, looking up at Dean. "It's fine now."

"Well, it's still late," Dean said. "It has been a long day, and it'll be a long day tomorrow. There is someone I need to find."

Sam got up on his elbow. "Dean," Sam sighed, running his hand in his hair. "I said I handled it."

"And I'm going to finish it," Dean said resolutely. "You protected yourself, yes. But he put his hands on you."

"Dean," Sam pleaded. But the look on Dean's face let Sam know there was no changing his mind.

"Now," Dean said, changing the subject. "Will you be able to get back to sleep, or do you need me to get in here with you and tell you a bedtime story?" Dean smirked by the end of that statement.

Leave it to Dean to lighten the mood. Sam huffed a laugh while lightly pushing Dean's shoulder.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled, laying down.

Though deep down, the thought of feeling his brother next to him after the day he had wasn't a bad idea. But he was nineteen years old. He wasn't a little kid who ran to his big brother every time he had a bad dream. Though after his encounter with James, all he wanted was Dean.

Sammy was like an open book when he was scared. Dean could see it. On the outside, Sam didn't want to cling to him. But on the inside, Sammy was craving it. Dean decided to make a choice for him. He meant what he said they had a lot to do the next day, but they needed to sleep.

Dean stood up and walked over to the chair where his leather coat was hanging on the back. Walking back to the bed, Dean laid the coat over Sam's shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, surprised.

He grabbed the pillow from the other bed and the top blanket, propping his pillow against the headboard.

"Getting some sleep," Dean said nonchalantly. "Scoot."

Dean got on the bed next to Sam.

Sam just watched as his brother moved around. He was too in awe to say anything. The weight of Dean's leather coat on his shoulders gave him a little comfort he hadn't felt since before he left for Stanford.

Dean laid down and closed his eyes. His arms crossed over his chest, and his legs crossed at the ankles.

Warm, comforting memories flooded Sam's mind, easing him to a peaceful slumber.

Dean smirked a little when he heard Sam's breathing even out.

"Sleep, little brother," Dean said quietly. "Big brother will take care of everything."

Dean fell asleep.

_000_000_000

Sam walked out of the bathroom when Dean came through the door.

"Breakfast," Dean said, raising the take-out bag from the local fast food outlet. "Come. Sit. We need to talk."

Sam finished drying his hair with the hotel-given towel and tossed it on the bed.

"You know I'm not a dog," Sam smirked, sitting down at the table.

"Yeah, well," Dean said, tossing a breakfast sandwich at Sam. Once he retrieved his sandwich, Dean sat down opposite Sam.

"Now," Dean said once they finished their breakfast. "Tell me what's going on. I hear a lot of things that don't make sense."

"I didn't do it," Sam adamantly said.

"I never said you did," Dean said, holding up his hand. "And I know you would never. But it is being said, and you being investigated for rape and kidnapping. So, why don't you tell me what happened."

Sam sighed and went into the story. "Things were fine. Becca, the girl who was raped, asked me to help her with studying. We had the same class and wanted to be ready for an exam we were having."

"Okay. Geeky," Dean teased. "What else?"

Sam gave Dean his patented bitchface look and then continued the story.

"We were supposed to meet that evening at the Student Commons. I waited and waited. She never showed."

"How long did you sit there?" Dean asked.

"An hour. Hour and a half," Sam said, shrugging his shoulders. "I figured she wasn't coming, and I was getting tired, so I was going to leave. That's when it happened."

Dean sat across from Sam, hearing his brother retell the story.

"What?" Dean asked, taking a bit of his sandwich.

"While I was walking out of the building, I heard some commotion. I went to check it out. The room was a mess. I turned on the lights, that's when I saw Becca. She was lying on the floor, clothes ripped. I took off my jacket and covered her. I was about to call 911, but the next thing I knew, I was on a couch in another room. There were two detectives in the room. They accused me of raping her and wanting to take a picture of it."

"Where was your phone?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. I didn't have it when I woke up," Sam shrugged.

"What made you run?" Dean asked, sitting back in his chair.

Sam looked at Dean and then lowered his head. With everything he tried to do, Dean still found out about it.

"Sammy," Dean said.

Sam sighed, "I didn't want you to think that…"

"Do you think so little of me that you would think I would believe some lies about you?" Dean was incredulous. "I raised you. Why would you—is that why you didn't call me?"

Sam didn't say anything; he lowered his head.

"Sam?"

"I didn't want you disappointed in me," Sam said.

Dean shook his head. "I told you last night, the only reason I'm disappointed is that you didn't call me."

Sam felt awful. He just wanted to be normal.

"Now," Dean said. "You are going to stay here."

"What? Why?"

"I'm going to find this Becca," Dean said. "The cops are looking for you. And plus, I want to know where you are."

Dean got up and grabbed his clothes, heading to the bathroom.

"What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" Sam called out.

"Rest," Dean said. His voice coming through the door.

Dean walked out of the bathroom wearing his slacks and a white shirt. He was tying his tie.

"I need to do something," Sam complained.

"Yes," Dean agreed, pulling his sweater vest over his head. "You need to rest. You still look like you haven't slept in a week."

"But Dean…," Sam started.

"No," Dean said. "You have too many people looking for you. I want you to stay put. I'll be back in a few hours. I'll let you know what I learned."

Dean picked up the keys from the table. He looked at his brother, who was still sitting at the table. Dean went to Sam and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy," Dean said. "It will be alright. Get some sleep. We'll get through this."

Sam nodded.

Dean left, closing the door behind him.

Sam looked around the moderate size room. Once again, he was alone, but he didn't feel lonesome for the first time in a long time. Sam wanted to help and find out what really happened and why he was accused. But the idea of getting some rest won out. Dean was right; he was still tired.

Sam saw that Dean left his jacket on the back of the chair. Grabbing it, Sam went to his bed and laid down. He was asleep within five minutes.

_000_000_000

Dean was driving back to the school when his cell rang. He reached for it and pressed the button to answer.

"Yeah."

"I'm here."

"Great. I'm staying at the Palo Alto Motel on the main street," Dean said. "Get a room. Text me your room number when you get settled."

Dean closed the phone, turning the car into a parking space of Stanford's Administrative building.

Dean walked up to the front desk.

"How can I help you?" The woman behind the counter said absentmindedly as she arranged her desk area to help the next person. When she looked up, she recognized him. "Oh, Agent, it's you."

"Good Morning," Dean said.

"Is there something else you need help with?" the woman inquired.

"I hope you can help me," Dean said softly. He wanted to give the impression that what he needed was in the delicate nature and didn't want it to get around.

The woman leaned in more so that they could talk softer.

"I'm close in catching this Winchester boy," Dean said. "But I still have a few questions for the girl; her name was Becca."

"Yes," the woman said. "Becca Banner, sweet girl. What an awful thing."

"Yes," Dean agreed. "I would like to talk to her, but there wasn't contact information from the police report."

The woman started tapping some keys on her keyboard. Seconds later, the information she was searching for came up. She pulled a small scrap of paper, writing the info down.

"Here," the woman said, sliding the piece of paper to Dean. "I hope you can get whoever did this. It's a shame what happened."

"Yes, ma'am, it is," Dean agreed. "Thanks."

Dean walked out of the school. He got another call.

"Yeah."

"It's Brady. You disappeared. I thought you were coming back."

"Something came up," Dean said. "I'll stop by later."

Dean hung up the phone before Brady could say anything. There were some more people Dean needed to talk to before tracking down Ms. Becca Banner.

Dean punched a few numbers in his phone then brought the phone to his ear. After a moment, he said, "I need the number to the local police station." Waiting for a moment, he said, "Can you connect me? Thanks."

Dean walked to the Impala while he waited for someone to pick up the phone.

"Hello," Dean said, getting into the car. "I'm Agent Barnes. I was told I could find Detectives Marshall and James at this precinct."

"Yes, sir," the dispatcher said. "Would you like me to transfer you to them?"

"No, thanks," Dean said. "Let them know that I would like to see them. I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir," the dispatcher said, hanging up the phone.

Dean got into the car and drove off. It didn't take long for him to pull into the police station's parking lot. Before he exited the vehicle, he got a text on his phone.

I'm at the hotel. Room 24. Going to get something to eat; let me know when you're ready.

Dean nodded and texted his reply, and got out of the car. He walked into the building towards the main desk.

"How can I help you?"

Dean looked at the name badge on the officer's chest.

"Good day, Officer Jones," Dean said. "I'm Agent Barnes," showing the cop his fake ID, "I would like to speak to two detectives. Marshall and James."

"Yes," Officer Jones said, "They are expecting you."

Officer Jones escorted Dean to the detectives' office, knocked, and opened the door.

"Agent Barnes," the man stood up, holding out his hand.

"Dean, please," Dean shook the man's hand.

"I'm Steven." Pointing to the woman, "this is Tricia."

"Thanks for seeing me," Dean said.

"No problem," Steven said, sitting back down. "Sit," holding out his hand towards the chair next to his desk. "How can we help you?"

"Well, I was hoping for some information," Dean said. "I caught wind of a case that the MO sounded close to one of mine I'm working."

"What case is that?" Steven asked, leaning back in his chair.

"The rape at Stanford college," Dean said.

"Yeah," Steven said, sitting straighter in his chair, folding his hands on his desk. "That case worries me."

"How so?" Dean inquired.

"Well, the story doesn't add up," Tricia said, speaking for the first time.

"What's is it?" Dean asked, looking over at Tricia.

"We have a suspect," Tricia said. We got him dead to rights, but—"

"What?" Dean pressed.

"The girl," Steven said, "Becca, she refuses to say who her attacker was. We believe she's covering for him."

"So, you don't have a case?" Dean asked though it came out as a statement.

"This guy still did it," Tricia said adamantly.

"It's not proven," Steven said to Tricia. "We only have a picture. And that doesn't really show anything."

"He's over her body with his phone," Tricia argued.

Before the conversation became a full-fledged argument, Dean asked, "Can I see the picture?"

Tricia looked at Dean as if she didn't know he was still in their office. She looked through the files on her desk and pulled out a plastic-covered photo.

Dean could see his baby brother kneeling by the girl. Knowing Sam's clothes from anywhere, since it was usually his older clothes. He knew Sam packed most of his old clothes when he left for school. Dean didn't say anything because he knew the reason why.

Pulling himself out of his musing, Dean focused back on the photo.

"So, what in this photo showed that this guy's the suspect?" Dean asked.

Tricia snatched the photo from Dean's fingers and jabbed her finger at Sam's image.

"He's over the body." Tricia's voice was stern. "He's taking a picture on his phone."

Dean knew his brother. One, he would never do something so despicable as rape a girl, but he wouldn't try and keep a record of it.

"Do you have the phone?" Dean asked.

Tricia's anger seemed to deflate as she sighed, sitting down in her chair.

"There was no phone around when we got there," Steven said.

"Did you find him? Talk to him?"

"Yeah," Tricia sighed. "But he lied."

Dean was trying to hold his tongue with this lady. He had a part to play, and he didn't need to blow his cover checking this woman in her place about his little brother.

"Tricia, that's enough," Steven bit out. "Ms. Banner said it wasn't him."

"She's mistaken," Tricia rebutted. "She was just in a traumatic situation. She just needs to let the truth come through when she's calmer."

"Becca Banner said that Sam Winchester didn't rape her," Steven said. "Let's move on. The real rapist is still out there. And I would like to catch him before he rapes someone else."

"Do you have any other suspects?" Dean asked Steven.

"Not yet," Steven replied. "The reason for this disagreement is because Ms. Banner said she doesn't know who it was, but she's sure it wasn't Sam Winchester."

"Do you mind if I talk to her?" Dean asked. "I don't want you to think I'm stepping on any toes."

Tricia looked like she was going to reject the agent's help, but Steven spoke first.

"Yeah," Steven said, eyeing Tricia in a silent conversation. "Maybe she does remember something talking to someone else."

"Great," Dean said, standing up, holding out his hand. "Thanks for your time."

Steven stood and shook Dean's hand.

"No problem," Steven said. "I hope we can catch this guy."

"So, do I," Dean said, walking out of the office.

_000_000_000

Dean walked to the Impala feeling a little lighter. Knowing that Sammy wasn't an actual suspect was great. Looking at his watch, he saw that he was gone for about two and a half hours. Sammy needed rest, but he didn't want him to be alone for so long.

Dean knew he was being overprotective, but finally, having his brother safe where he knew exactly where he was, was calming. After driving out of the parking lot, Dean dialed his phone.

"Are you back in your room? … Great…I'm going to check on Sammy and change. We're in room 30… Give me ten minutes and come over."

Dean closed his phone and set it on the seat next to him. It didn't take him long to get back to the hotel room. When he walked into the room, he saw that Sammy was still asleep. Pulling the sweater off over his head, he sat down on the end of Sam's bed, successfully waking Sam up.

"D'n,"

"Sleepyhead," Dean smirked.

"What time is it?" Sam's words slurred.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said, standing up. "You obviously need to catch up on sleep."

Sam came up on his elbow. "I can't sleep the day away," squinting at the clock on the nightstand. "It's the afternoon."

"I've noticed," Dean said, walking back over to Sam. With his hand on Sam's chest, he pushed his brother back on the bed before Sam could think about moving.

"Dean," Sam half-heartedly protested.

"Sleep," Dean ordered softly. "I'm here."

Sam looked up at his brother. He wanted to argue more that he needed to get up, but his body relaxed on the mattress again, and any thought of getting up left his mind. The weight of Dean's hand on his chest didn't help matters any.

Dean smirked when Sam fell back asleep. He learned when he was seven, Sam would fight trying to sleep. All Dean had to do was put his hand on his chest. The constant pressure on Sammy's chest relaxed him. The downside was that it only worked if Sam was exhausted. And Dean knew this time, Sammy was exhausted.

Dean walked away from the bed, went to the bathroom, and changed, waiting for his friend to show up.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Dean pulled his gun that was at the back of his pants and walked to the door.

Without hearing anything, a voice said, "Dean, it's me. Let me in."

Dean smiled, put the gun back to its original place, and opened the door.

Lee Cobb was standing on the other side of the door.

"How you doing, you rascal?" Lee said, smiling.

"Thanks for coming, Lee," Dean stepped aside and allowed Lee entrance.

Lee saw Sam was asleep on the far bed.

"Brought us some beer," Lee said, holding up the six-pack in his hand.

"Great," Dean said, closing the door. "Sit."

The two friends were at the table. Lee facing the door while Dean kept his eyes on Sam.

"So, what's going on?" Lee asked after opening his second beer.

"I need your help in finding someone."

"Okay," Lee said, taking a swig. "Who?"

"I don't know. All I have is a name."

Lee saw that rugged look on Dean's face. The older Winchester wasn't looking at his friend but at his sleeping brother.

"Okay, tell me what I need to know," Lee said.

Dean told the story from what he knew about the altercation Sam had with this person. Dean knows how resourceful Lee was.

Lee could find a specific flea off a dog's back. Lee would be the right one for the job.

"So, let me get this straight," Lee said. Dean took his own swig, draining his beer. "Sam has been homeless for about a month."

Dean nodded.

"A couple of nights ago, some guy attempts to attack Sam."

"Not attempt," Dean clarified. "Molested. He put his hands on my Sammy."

Hearing 'my Sammy' from Dean wasn't an odd occurrence. Anyone that knew the Winchester boys knew if you didn't want Dean's wrath, you did not touch little Sammy Winchester.

"Is there anything you can tell me about James?" Lee asked.

"There is some shelter a few blocks down the way," Dean said, looking at Lee. "Sammy said that one of the volunteers helped him. Her name was Rebecka. I think if you find her, it could lead to finding the soon-to-be-lungless man."

Lee bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh at Dean's threat, shaking his head.

"Alright," Lee said, standing up. "Give me a day or two."

Dean stood and walked with Lee to the door.

"Call me when you get anything," Dean said.

"I will," Lee walked out of the room.

Dean closed the door and turned, looking at his baby brother sleeping peacefully on his bed.

"I'll take care of everything, little brother," Dean vowed.

TBC

A/N: Thank you to everyone who favored, followed, and reviewed my story.

Please leave a review letting me know what you think of this chapter.

Many hugs and kisses to you all!

Mandancie