A/N: Continued thanks to everyone reading and everyone leaving feedback. You're making an old woman very very happy... But I suspect some of you may be a bit unhappy with some of the content of this chapter. Please remember, not everything is as it seems...

Apologies for the English joke. Cheap marketing ploy to get people to read one of my other fics (Thicker Than Water - shorter and less angstified than this one). If you don't notice the English joke, then just pretend this paragraph never happened...

Chapter Nine

"Sam, it's for Dean's own good."

Sam glared sullenly at Ian's reflection in the rear view mirror, arms folded across his chest as he tried to remember what Dean had told him about jimmying child locks on car doors. "How is abandoning him at the mall for 'his own good'?" he demanded, anger having almost driven the terror from his system. He wasn't going to capitulate and play victim. He was going to stand up to the bully, just like Dean would.

Ian frowned as he pulled up at a red light, glancing at Sam in the back seat. "I didn't abandon him," he said. "I left him with my friend."

Sam frowned right back. "What friend?" he demanded.

"The man I left him with at the mall."

Sam thought for a second. "I didn't see any man…" he began, before suddenly remembering that Ian had been speaking to a man before they left Dean. Yes, he had. He remembered now. A tall man with slicked back silver hair…

No wait.

There hadn't been a man there.

Had there?

"You might have seen him at the house earlier," Ian continued, pulling away as the light changed to green.

"The – the man in the silver car?" Sam offered tentatively. Because that would kind of make sense.

"Yeah, that was him," Ian confirmed.

"Who is he?" Sam asked.

"He's a psychiatric social worker," Ian answered, before noticing the blank look on Sam's face. "He looks after kids with – problems. You know. Emotional problems. Things they can't deal with…"

Sam squinted at him. "Dean doesn't have any 'emotional problems'," he insisted. At least, he didn't seem to have this morning… "'Cause you're saying he's crazy, right?"

Ian laughed awkwardly. "No, Sam!" he said. "I'm just concerned that Dean may be – may be struggling to cope with things, that's all. And my friend agreed."

"So why didn't your friend just take Dean away to help him when he was at your house this morning?" Sam's frown intensified.

"Well," Ian replied. "That's what we were discussing. My friend thought it might upset Dean to take him away from you – and away from a new home, however temporary – all at the same time, that's why he suggested we do it somewhere neutral, like the mall. And that's why I tried to get you to wait in the store. I thought it might make it easier on Dean if you weren't there."

Sam nodded, thoughtfully. "So what things?" he asked.

Ian frowned. "What – ?"

"What 'things' is Dean struggling to cope with?" Sam clarified.

"Well," Ian paused, looking out at the traffic before deciding this was a conversation he couldn't have whilst driving. Sam deserved his full attention.

He pulled the car into the side of the street, before unclipping his seal belt and twisting so that he was more-or-less facing Sam.

Sam looked up at him expectantly.

"Well, Sam," Ian began. "Dean's had to deal with a lot, you know? Your Mom dying. Your Dad taking off. You."

"Me?"

"From what I understand, he's pretty much looked out for you since you were a baby, right?"

Sam thought about that before nodding.

"That's a lot of responsibility for a boy Dean's age."

Sam nodded again. "But why would that make him crazy?"

"Not crazy," Ian repeated. "He's just got some problems he needs to deal with. I don't know whether he ever told you he stopped talking after your Mom passed?"

Sam shook his head. "Didn't know that till you said about it before."

"There's a lot you don't know about Dean, Sam," Ian said. Sam frowned at that. "And a lot you don't know about your Dad."

Sam's brow furrowed still further. "Like what?" he asked, too young to realise he might not want to know the answer.

Ian's face had crumpled into a mask of sympathy. "Well," he began slowly. "You know I said I work with kids in trouble?" Sam nodded. "Well, I've seen a lot of kids whose parents…" he paused, searching for the right phrase. "Whose parents hurt them."

Sam's eyes widened, and he sat bolt upright. "Dad never hurt us!" he burst out.

Ian waved him quiet. "He never hurt you," he said. "Sam, I know what to look for. I know the signs. Kids whose parents or carers hit them, or – or – "

"Dad never hit us," Sam interrupted again. "Ever."

"Sam," Ian reached over and took Sam's hand, and although the boy thought about snatching it away, for some reason he didn't. "Sam, these people – these people who hurt their kids. They do it in such a way that no-one knows. Leave bruises where they don't show. Make sure no-one's around to hear the noises…"

Sam's face paled visibly. "Dad never…" he began, shaking his head. "Never."

"Dean may have stopped him hurting you," Ian continued. "I've seen the way he protects you. He would never have let your Dad hurt you. He would have taken it on himself and made sure you didn't know. I've seen it before in older siblings…"

Sam brushed a tear angrily from his cheek. "Why – why would he do that?" he asked, feeling like his whole world had just lurched and wobbled around him and might come tumbling down at any minute. "Why would he lie to me?"

Ian shrugged. "To protect you, Sam. Sometimes the truth can hurt more than someone hitting you."

"But – but – " Sam choked back the tears. "Why would Daddy hurt Dean?" It didn't make any sense to him. "Dean always does what Daddy says. Always. And he never, ever talks back to him. Not like me. Daddy says I ask too many questions. But not Dean. Daddy only ever gets mad at him when he does something wrong – like the time it took him too long to put a rifle back together; or the time he didn't clean his gun properly; or when he couldn't hold his breath for three minutes…" Sam trailed off, suddenly realising Dad actually got mad at Dean quite a lot. "And if he thinks Dean isn't taking good enough care of me," he added. "Or if I make Dad mad, he usually ends up mad at Dean instead."

Ian was nodding. "You see?" he said. "You could probably see it, but just didn't want to believe it."

"But Daddy loves us."

"Yes he does," Ian agreed. "But your Dad's been through a lot too. And now it's time you and Dean got the help I should have given you a long time ago."

"When you tried to take us away from Dad before?" Sam knew what the word 'custody' meant too.

Ian nodded solemnly. "When your Dad kept Dean's head underwater in the bathtub that time," he explained. "I'd already started to notice some bruises on your brother. I guess this was before your Dad knew how to hide them. But I suppose I didn't want to believe it either, so I looked the other way." He wiped a tear off Sam's cheek before adding, "Well, not any more."

Sam swallowed, trying to be brave like he knew Dean would want him to be. "When can Dean come home?" he asked.

Ian shrugged sadly. "When my friend's made him better," he replied.

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Dean Winchester rarely allowed himself the luxury of tears… except when really necessary.

It wasn't exactly hard to get them to come – he only had to start imagining what Ian might be doing to Sammy right now – what he'd let Ian do to Sammy right now – and that was more than enough incentive.

So when he approached the nice lady at the Information Desk, he was sure he looked appropriately terrified and pathetic. Although, not for the first time he wished he shared Sam's puppy dog eyes.

Brushing rather obviously at the tears running down his cheek, Dean looked up at the lady at the desk with the most anguished expression he could manage to plaster across his face.

Again, not hard considering what might be happening to his little brother.

"Oh honey!" the lady burst out, looking down at him like he was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen in her life. "Are you alright?"

Dean bit back the urge to snap, Of course I'm not alright – he squinted at her name tag – Gloria, I've lost my kid brother!

Instead, he played the only role he figured just might get him out of this particularly catastrophic jam. "I kinda lost my Uncle," he managed to sob pretty damn convincingly. "Guess I got turned around in one of the stores, and now I don't know where he is or how to get back to his house…"

"Oh sweetie! You poor thing!" Gloria stepped out immediately from behind the desk, her various necklaces dangling in Dean's face as she put a thick arm around his shoulder and bent down towards him. "You live with your Uncle?"

Dean shook his head, turning on some more of the waterworks. Jeez, he so should look into acting some day… "I'm just visiting," he choked. "So I don't know his address or anything!"

Gloria stroked his hair, and Dean had to concentrate really hard to resist pushing her hand away. Wow, her perfume was strong. He thought he might actually pass out if she pulled him much closer. "There there, honey," she cooed, steering him towards the Information Desk, where one of her colleagues, an equally maternal-looking Hispanic lady with bright red hair piled up on top of her head, had hurriedly gotten rid of a couple looking for a drug store so that she could come over and see what all the fuss was about.

"What's your Uncle's name, honey?" the red-headed lady asked. Dean peered through Gloria's necklaces and saw that her name was Anita.

"Ian," Dean replied, choking artfully on his tears as he added, "But I don't know his last name."

Anita's smile faltered as she exchanged a glance with Gloria. "Well, maybe he's still in the centre," she said. "If he is, we could try the tannoy. And then we should be able to find him, even without a last name."

Gloria nodded. "Sure," she agreed, turning her attention back to Dean. "What's your name, sugar?"

Dean narrowly avoided a grimace. Honey? Sugar? Sweetie? One thing Dean Winchester wasn't was sweet…

"Dean," he supplied, cautiously.

"Dean what?" Gloria prodded.

Dean thought about that for a second. It was fairly irrelevant, so he guessed the truth couldn't hurt for once. "Winchester," he admitted.

"Like the cathedral?" Anita asked.

Dean frowned at her. "Huh?" he said. "No, like the rifle."

Anita gave him a 'kids today' shake of the head, before heading over towards a microphone on the far side of the Information Desk. She pushed a button on the side, her voice suddenly booming loudly over the mall's p.a. system. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, enunciating each word extra-carefully. "We have a lost little boy in the centre today…"

Less of the 'little', lady…

"His name is Dean Winchester, and he's lost his Uncle Ian. If his Uncle could visit the first floor Information Desk, I'm sure Dean will be very happy to see him."

Happy my ass, Dean thought, trying hard to maintain Scared Face as Anita headed back over in his direction. "Thanks," he said to her, trying to make his voice sound a little shakier. It obviously worked, as her face crumpled sympathetically and Gloria gave his shoulder an extra squeeze. "But what if he's gone home without me? What if he thinks I'll be able to find my own way back there…?"

A flash of navy blue caught Dean's attention then, and he only just managed to subdue a grin. Perfect. He'd never been so happy to see a cop.

"Hear you've got a lost kid," the Police officer said, ambling over to the Information Desk as if he had all day to get there. He stuck his thumbs in his gun belt, which appeared to be straining to hold in his rather expansive stomach, and rocked on his toes like some copper in a fifties gangster movie.

Gloria brightened considerably at the officer's approach, Dean all but forgotten as she smiled broadly, all bright red lipstick and shiny white teeth. "Why, Officer Semansky!" she gushed, fluttering her eyelashes and giggling like a schoolgirl. "We haven't seen you around these parts for days!"

The cop smiled his best 'well howdy, little lady' smile, before adding, "Oh, I never could stay away from you for long, Mrs O'Donnell!"

Dean resisted the urge to vomit. Hey! Lost kid here! he felt like yelling.

"So you're the one who's lost, huh?" Officer Semansky looked Dean over, as if sizing him up.

"Yes sir," Dean managed as meekly as possible.

Anita joined the conversation then. "Lost his Uncle," she said. "Doesn't know his last name or his address."

The three adults shook their heads in unison.

"Poor little thing," Gloria cooed, touching Dean's hair again.

If I only had a gun…

The cop bent town towards him then, and Dean actually had to take a step back or he may have choked on the stench of cigarettes and cheap aftershave.

"Too bad, son," the cop said, putting fingers like undercooked sausages on Dean's shoulder. "Without your knowing his name or address, your Uncle's gonna be pretty hard to track down."

About time, Grandpa!

Dean threw the officer his most innocently winning smile. "Yes sir," he agreed. Then, almost as an afterthought, "But if it helps, I do know the license plate number of his car…"

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Sam leaned his forehead against the window, letting the cool glass numb his aching brow. His arms clutched at his knees as he sat scrunched up on the window ledge, staring out over Ian's front garden and across to the houses on the other side of the street.

So he'd finally gotten his dearest wish: a house in the suburbs; big garden; pool – that was a bonus; an adult to look out for him who didn't think learning to strip a rifle was more important than learning to throw a baseball; and Uncle Ian had even said he might enrol Sam in school next week if Dad hadn't come to pick him up by then.

Sam hadn't asked what would happen if Dad did come to pick him up.

But there was one vital component missing from Sam's Suburban Fantasy.

In all the times he'd dreamed of a life of ordinariness, of normality, all the times he'd wished for it, all the times he'd yearned for it, he'd never once imagined it without Dean.

Without Dad? Well that was another thing altogether, and the way Sam felt about Dad right now, he didn't even feel guilty for wishing he never came to pick him up.

Dean, however, was a different story.

Sure, the house was cool: there was satellite TV and the latest video game console; and Uncle Ian had a home computer he'd promised to show Sam how to use.

But it didn't mean anything without Dean.

What was the fun of the latest video game if you had no-one to play it with? And wasn't the best part about watching fuzzy re-runs on those crappy motel TVs Dean's constant running commentary – why Starsky's car was way cooler than KITT; why Godzilla would totally kick King Kong's ass; why Flash Gordon looked so much like Buck Rogers…

And then there was school. How would Sam ever be able to handle school without Dean there to back him up?

He sighed, banging his head against the window as he wondered for the thousandth time when Dean would be coming home.

Because no way would this ever be home without him.

Once again, his chest ached when he thought about Dean's having lied to him. When Uncle Ian had first told Sam of his suspicions regarding their Dad's treatment of his big brother, he hadn't believed it for a second.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it started to make: Maybe Dean always followed Dad's orders because he was terrified of what Dad would do to him if he didn't. Maybe that was why Dean always seemed to get more banged up on hunts than Sam did – maybe there were already bruises there to begin with. What if Dad really had tried to drown Dean to see whether he was possessed?

If all of this was true, then how long would Dean take to fix?

"Sam?" Ian entered the room quietly, and Sam didn't turn to face him, just carried on gazing out the window through reddened eyes. "My friend's coming soon – the one who's trying to help Dean."

That got Sam's attention, and he spun off the window ledge, standing up so straight Ian thought he might break something. "Is he bringing Dean back?" he asked hopefully, eyes almost pleading.

Ian shook his head apologetically. "No, kiddo," he said. "Not yet. He wants to talk to you for a while. You know. Make sure you're alright."

Sam looked confused at that. "You think I'm crazy too?" he asked.

Ian smiled sadly. "No, Sam," he said. "He just wants to talk to you, that's all." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, before lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I think he wants to see how long you can go before you mention your brother." He laughed, but somehow Sam thought it sounded forced. "So maybe it'd be better if you just didn't mention Dean at all. Huh?"

That made no sense to Sam, and his frown demonstrated the fact.

Ian smiled awkwardly. "It – it'd just be better for Dean," he added by way of explanation.

Sam still didn't get it, but if his not mentioning Dean would be better for his big brother, then he wouldn't mention him. "Okay," he said slowly.

"Good," Ian seemed to sigh in relief, and was about to say something else when his attention was caught by movement beyond the window. "What the – ?"

Sam turned to follow his gaze, to where a Police car had just turned into their driveway.

Ian blanched, and he glanced at Sam, muttering, "Stay here," before disappearing out the door.

Sam faltered for a second, glancing backwards at the Police car, before gingerly following Ian from the room, pulling the door open as quietly as he could and creeping along the hallway to the top of the stairs, where he peered round the banister and down towards the front door, which was slightly out of his view.

Ian was taking the stairs two at a time, already at the bottom before a navy blue silhouette appeared beyond the leaded glass panel at the top of the door, one hand raised as if to knock.

Ian beat him to it, wrenching open the door just as the burly middle-aged cop on the porch pulled a familiar-looking young boy up the steps and pushed him towards the door.

Ian glanced down, just as Dean treated him to his biggest, sunniest grin.

"Hi, Uncle Ian!" he burst out breezily. "Bet you didn't expect to see me so soon."

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Dean arrives just in time for popcorn and they all live happily ever after... I'm kidding, by the way...

Might be a longer gap before the next chapter appears, but at least I've not left you with a cliffie for a change!