A/N: I've changed the rating to a T just to be safe. This chapter is definitely darker and mentions stealing and possible although not explored sexual situations. Nothing graphic is described.

If I owned Supernatural… well Dean and Sam would be shirtless, for the flimsiest of reasons, a lot more often just for starters…

o0o

Chris had a moment of doubt, which was rare in his line of work – extremely rare. But unlike many of the persons who's pasts he had illuminated over the centuries, he knew Dean, he trusted Dean: Dean was a friend. And Chris didn't have too many of those. And Dean trusted him. Their very first encounter all those years ago it had been Dean that had taught Chris the true meaning of family, and it had been a lesson that Chris and his siblings had never forgotten. He owed Dean. But he owed it to Dean to try to really reach Sammy. And to do that he might have to cross a boundary that Dean would rather have remained intact. But if shocking Sam out of his complacency would get the message through his thick skull…

But he had to do this while respecting Dean's wishes. He didn't want to diminish Dean in Sam's eyes. He wanted to protect both brothers by leaving some of their illusions intact. And so he had opted not to show Dean stealing his first tins of food, nor Dean cutting school to take the bus downtown to beg for money on different street corners in different cities so that he'd have a meager emergency fund for when their dad was inevitably away. Pride was a small price to pay if it meant you could buy more milk and cereal. Dean couldn't do it very often as he had to be wary of concerned adults trying to get him off the streets and into "a good home". Likewise Chris wasn't about to show Sammy the one time Dean got caught attempting to steal a wallet – it was Dean's first and last venture into pick pocketing. Dean hadn't been quick enough to get the wallet without the owner being the wiser. But the owner had taken pity on the poor child and had given the ten-year old boy a stern lecture and a couple of twenties and sent him on his way.

No, what Chris was about to show Sammy was worse than any of those things, much worse. And yet Chris hoped that by showing Sam the lengths his family was willing to go to for him and for each other that maybe Sam would wise up, grow up and finally shut up.

Chris prayed he was doing the right thing. And hoped that Dean could forgive him if he wasn't.

He let the memory unfold around them.

Sam looked around their tiny one-bedroom apartment. It was on the second floor above a small insurance office, and there was only one other unit owned by the insurance salesman who ran the office downstairs. Sam remembered that Mr. Morse as a slick always smiling man who'd always had a candy for young Sammy. But what he remembered most was knowing that Dean didn't like him for some reason, didn't trust him. And if Dean said to steer clear of him, then that was all the instruction Sammy needed. At almost eight-years old he still worshipped his big brother, and whatever Dean said was how it was.

Sam smiled sadly thinking about how simple everything was when Dean could do no wrong.

Oddly, neither boy was anywhere about, and maybe Chris was just using their humble abode as a starting point, as the apartment quickly seeped away to be replaced by their latest school's playground. It was a warm summer evening, and there was Sam playing with Mikey? Mitchell? … Milton, a nine year-old who lived a block down and who hadn't really had any friends his own age before Sam. Man, he'd forgotten about Milton with his wild imagination and his earnest offers of friendship. They were playing pirates on one of the climbing structures. There were other children and their parents playing together and a small group of women standing on the other side of the playground chatting while they watched their kids play. Dean was seated on a bench at the edge of the schoolyard, close enough to be able to watch over Sammy but out of range of well-meaning parents who might wonder where little Sam's mother or father was.

Dean was reading a book on… architecture?… occasionally focusing on Sam to make sure he was ok, and to ascertain that nothing and no one was threatening his safety. Architecture? A book on cars he could understand…

Dean, at twelve, wasn't quite at that awkward stage yet – he wouldn't hit a major growth spurt til next summer – but was an already capable young man, upon whom the mantle of responsibility seemed to rest almost comfortably, and quite naturally; it was evident that he was secure, in his own way, of his role. He was already settling into the role of sometime hunter and soldier and full-time big brother that their father needed him to be.

It was obvious, however, that sitting and reading for yet another evening while Sammy played, would likely not have been his first choice of activities. He was fidgeting on the bench, shifting often and when he looked away from Sammy, scanning their surroundings, making a possible threat assessment, it was evident that he was worried about something. Dean's worry could be read in the shadows lurking in his eyes and in the tense lines of his body, in the way that he never relaxed his vigilance. A stranger happening across him would never recognize the depths of his worries because at twelve Dean was already perfecting his public persona of cocky self-assurance. But the silent watchers could tell that he was stressing about something. Likely where their next meal was coming from, as Sam was fairly certain that their dad wasn't due to return for at least another week if he were judging the memory correctly.

Sam felt a surge of anger at their father. Even if he did have his reasons, it was still a pretty shitty thing to do to a twelve-year old. He was just turning to Chris, when Dean's eyes turned to his brother again. Who was showing Milton how he could swing from rung to rung of an arched metal ladder, clearly showing off his superior climbing skills. And Dean's eyes softened as he proudly watched his baby brother attempt to show Milton just how it was done. The previously shadowed eyes were momentarily infused with a genuine love for the precocious scamp that was his younger brother. Not that Dean would ever say that, of course, but Sam knew, and had always known, that his big brother loved him.

Both the Sam and the young Dean were therefore startled when a voice came from behind Dean as an older man approached the park bench. It was Mr. Morse, their neighbour. Sam relaxed somewhat, but Dean went on high alert. What..?

Mr. Morse had seemed kindly and old to Sam, but the added perspective Chris provided showed him that the insurance salesman was likely in his early forties and while smoothly good looking, his surface charm did not stand up to a closer scrutiny. He suddenly seemed creepy.

"Hello Dean. Out enjoying the evening I see? I've noticed that you and young Sam come here often. Is your father still working late every night?" Mr. Morse obviously didn't buy the carefully fabricated front that John worked nights, as there'd been no sign, sound or sighting of the absent parent for almost three months. As he asked his questions he had seated himself on the bench, just a little too close to Dean, just a mite inside Dean's personal space. He still kept the conversation casual although Dean's refusal to answer him should have told the man that his feigned concern wasn't welcome.

Neither was the hand on Dean's thigh. Dean quickly stood up, dropping the book, and backed away from this man and glanced back towards the park to make sure Sammy wasn't seeing this.

Mr. Morse was aware of how far removed from the other parents and children they were and was aware too that with regards to his brother Dean was vulnerable.

"Come sit down Dean," Dean didn't move. "You don't want to cause a fuss do you? You wouldn't want to be seen pulling that knife that you seem to have your hand on, would you? You wouldn't want the police or worse, Child Services turning up on your doorstep would you? Just sit down and have a nice chat with me."

Dean just glared at the leering salesman sitting nonchalantly on the bench as if molesting young men was a daily occurrence and nothing unusual. And who knows, maybe it wasn't unusual. Without looking back at Sammy Dean reluctantly perched on the extreme edge of the bench.

"Excellent. Come sit a little closer Dean, I won't bite." The smile Morse gave him was patently false and full of arrogant victory as Morse knew he was fully in control of the situation. Silently seething Dean slid closer.

Morse slid into Dean's personal space again. His hand was back on Dean's thigh. Dean gritted his teeth, and silently cursed himself for his own stupidity for not realizing the vulnerability his remote location had left him in. He wouldn't do Sammy any good if he were in juvenile detention center. And while he could break Morse's hold and could certainly inflict major damage on this asshole, he couldn't leave Sammy alone to deal with whatever nosey neighbour or kindly social worker would get involved if Dean got himself arrested. So he sat. And seethed.

"I have a proposition for you, Dean. A simple matter of economics, that I will leave entirely up to you to decide." The hand on his thigh reached up to gently brush across the zipper of his jeans, belying the element of choice offered. "A simple matter of supply and demand. It seems from my observations that you haven't been to the supermarket lately? Are those dollars stretching a little thin, hmm?"

Dean, who knew exactly the contents of their meager cupboard, just glared at this slime ball and moved infinitesimally backwards, trying to get out of reach, but having nowhere to go.

"It's simple, really. In exchange for some" the hand brushed him again "personal services rendered, I will pay you say $40 for an evening, and you will receive my humble gratitude and my personal assurance that Child Services won't turn up. Call it a little insurance policy." Morse chuckled at his own joke. "What do you say, Dean? Do we have a deal?"

Dean said nothing. Just stared with utter hatred into Morse's calculating, leering eyes.

"Well, think it over, Dean. But don't take too long. We wouldn't want you and Sammy to get put into foster care, would we? Being that you're already past the prime adopting age, they'd probably split you and Sammy up, wouldn't you think?" A frisson of fear shivered through Dean at that thought. "I can see you realize I'm only looking out for all of our best interests. You could buy a lot of groceries with forty bucks, and Sammy's a growing boy, isn't he?"

"You leave Sammy outta this!" Dean spat.

"Oh I will, as long as I have something, or should I say someone else to amuse myself with, I wouldn't even think of touching Sammy. But you Dean, you interest me. You're so young, and so tough, but I think you have a price, don't you Dean? Everyone does."

With that Morse got up to leave the park.

"I'll be home tonight, Dean. Why don't you come over, after Sammy goes to bed?"

And with that, the coolly arrogant man casually sauntered off. Leaving Dean literally shaking with rage and anger and uncertainty and fear on a bench just a little too far from the safety of the park.

Chris noted that young Dean wasn't the only one shaking. Beside him Sam was shaking too. Shaking in complete denial that the incident could have happened. Shaking in anger that once again their father had left Dean vulnerable – vulnerable in the worst possible way. Shaking that something like this had happened to his brother and he'd never even known, would never have known if 'Chris' hadn't interfered. And shaking because deep down he knew what lengths Dean would go to, to protect him, knew what Dean's choice would have been. He knew, but wished he didn't

Maybe….

Sam turned pleading eyes to the specter beside him.

"Tell me he didn't. Tell me Dad came back in time. Tell me he didn't sacrifice his soul just to keep me safe. Please… he didn't do it did he?"

Chris couldn't meet Sam's eyes as the park started to dissolve around them.

Sammy's anguished whispers of denial seemed to linger behind them as they moved towards the next crucial part of that self same memory.

o0o

TBC