"Is this about the freakin' chinese checkers, Sammy? Cause I already told you those checkers are mine until your lazy butt apologizes for leaving our room looking like a war zone." Eleven year old Dean Winchester glared at his brother in the early morning autumn air, but the kid seemed perplexed.

"It's not about the checkers, Dean. I told you already, I didn't take your skateboard. And you were there when our room morphed into a disaster, wasn't all me." Sam shuffled his feet a little in the leaves of the sidewalk. He hated when Dean was mad at him. He started to dip his chin a bit, intending to look up at Dean.

"Oh no you don't! No giving me that sad little puppy look! You took it, Sam, no one else has been near the motel room and I just don't see Dad skateboarding around anytime soon. Besides, I'm the one who's grounded for that mess. Walk faster runt, we're going to be late for school." Dean stomped a few feet ahead, leaving Sam to stretch out his shorter legs to keep up the pace. Truth be known, he was already over being mad at Sam. Never could fuss at the little guy for long. On the other hand, he wanted that skateboard back. No need to tell the kid he was off the hook.

He was about twenty feet ahead of him now, the shadows of the forest on either side of the road lightening as the sun started up, the sky tinting from purples into gold. Dean scuffed through the piles of leaves that were blowing together in minature drifts, slowing slightly so he wouldn't turn the corner out of Sam's sight. He didn't particularly care if they were late to school, but Sam loved every minute he could spend in the place. Go figure.

It was the yelp that sent him back to his brother, strides lengthening as he heard something hit the earth and then running feet. "Sam? Hey! Sammy?!?"

The bundle on the ground looked smaller in its stillness, a rumpled grey sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans, shock of brown hair protruding from the edges. Dean's eyes swept up to the running figure, now fifty yards away. He took a step in that direction, then reassessed the wisdom of chasing a grown man with no weapon of his own while Sam lay on the ground. He slid to the dirt beside his brother, burrowing an arm underneath him and rolling him onto his back. "Sammy?"

To his relief, Sam's eyes were open, wide with surprise, but lucid. He was drawing short gasping breaths, held up a single finger for Dean to wait. Dean sat down flat, pulling Sam up so that he leaned against Dean's chest. It was a long minute before Sam gathered enough air to say anything.

"Man... kicked... me.... who?..... why?.... Dean?" He couldn't hide the quivering of his lip.

For all that the Winchesters had an unconvential life, the intentional cruelty of other humans John had carefully hidden away from his sons. At eleven Dean was starting to have an inkling, of course, but he'd felt no need to share the information with his seven year old brother. Sam was completely bewildered, lost eyes searching Dean's face for an answer.

"Kicked?" Dean was furious, too stunned to be afraid. He pulled up the sweatshirt, tugging the long t-shirt beneath free to reveal the livid red mark the length of Sam's ribs. "Awwh Sammy, I'm sorry. I don't know why kiddo. You okay?" Dad is going to be pissed.

"Think so, Dean." Sam looked at the huge houses tucked among the trees hopefully, breath coming easier. "Maybe we could stop here?"

Dean looked at the houses, too. Rich people houses, nothing but trouble for their kind. No one was going to admit seeing a stranger kick a little kid. He'd rather not take Sam there, unless the kid was really too hurt to walk. Seemed to Dean that boys living in the rickety motel at the edge of the otherwise well to do neighborhood were likely to get one of two responses if they appeared on the doorsteps. Either the riffraff would be unceremoniously thrown out, or worse, a humanitarian do gooder would try to get involved in their lives and fix everything. Like Dad needed that.

Regretfully, he shook his head. "I don't think we should. Dad left this morning and won't be home until tomorrow, remember? Might draw a lot of attention our way. Try getting up, I'll help you back home."

Sam got to his feet a little slowly, but otherwise seemed functional. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"If we want everything to seem normal, shouldn't we go on to school?"

Dean considered that. He doubted the school would come looking for them for missing just one day, but that teacher of Sam's already seemed overly nosy about their family. She was nice enough, but if Sam thought he could get through the day, it might be better not to raise suspicion.

"Dean?"

The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to realize he wasn't sure what to do. He decided and put a confident look on his face. "If you can hussle we'll only be a few minutes late. Make sure no one sees that bruise, if you start hurting too much, tell everybody you've got a sore throat or something and have the teacher get me. That's only a last resort though, since Dad can't come get us. If you're not pretty sure you can get through the day, tell me now."

"I can do it Dean, promise." Sam nodded solemnly, trusting in his brother's decision.

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Dean managed to spot Sam a few hours into the school day. The second graders were walking to the library as the sixth graders left gym; he seemed all right. It probably was better they'd come to school. The crowd ought to keep crazy strangers away, and then Dean would have only a few hours alone to protect his brother from whatever was going on. Maybe it was just some random nut job. Yeah right.

Sam actually didn't feel too bad, the left ribs pulling if he stretched, but his breathing was fine. By the time his gym class rolled around at the end of the day, he decided he could play whatever game the teacher picked out. Luck turned out to be with him when Mrs. Maddox declared this might be the last pretty day of the season and they should all head out to the playground and goof off in the sunshine. At least it should have been lucky.

Sam's favorite part of the playground was the jungle gym. He didn't think he could tackle the monkey bars today, but it might look funny if he didn't go over there. He was determined not to let Dean down. If Dean wanted him to act normal, then he was not going to be a cry baby about one single bruise. Dad got banged up at work and he never complained about it. Said it wasn't the Winchester way, Winchesters were different. Well, Sam was a Winchester too. Dean was gonna be proud of him.

It was a great plan right up until he decided to hang up side down from the gym cross bar. Gravity oddly enough treated Winchester sweatshirts just like everyone else's. As soon as Sam flipped himself over to dangle from his knees, the grey shirt bunched at his shoulders, the pale torso and giant blue bruise there for all to see.

"Sam Winchester, come here right now." His teacher's voice had a funny sound.

He hurried to the side of the playground, surprised when Mrs. Maddox ushered him back into the school without saying a word.

She finally sat him in a chair in the nurse's office, her facial expression pinched.

"Am I in trouble?" Sam was wracking his brain for what he might have done. He never got in trouble at school. Never. Why did it have to be today when he had promised Dean he'd do everything right?

Mrs. Maddox knelt beside him, coming to eye level and reaching a hand out to his shoulder. "Trouble? Of course not Sam, honey. I am worried about you, though. I saw your side just now. You want to tell me what happened?"

Uh-oh. "N-nothing happened. Fell down playing after school, that's all."

She lifted the edge of the shirt, not missing Sam's flinch backward into the chair. "Did you happen to fall on a boot, Sam?"

"A what? Why...." Sam was scared. He'd fouled this up somehow. He wasn't sure what he'd done, but priority one at school was not to be the center of attention. He wanted to go home.

"Sam, that bruise. It's a boot print. An adult's by the size of it. Want to try again? Whatever you tell me, it's ok."

"Fell." Sam tugged his shirt back into place, noticing that the school nurse was now standing at the door. "I want Dean."

"You want your brother? Why not your Dad? Did your Dad do this Sam?"

"No! Dad wouldn't hurt me. Dean's here already, that's all." Sam blinked back tears. "Can you get Dean?"

Mrs. Maddox stood with a sigh, tousling Sam's hair as she stood. "Wait right here, sweetie, Miranda and I are going to talk to Mr. Pope."

The principal? Not good. Not, not good.

The three of them stood outside the door, talking in quiet tones. Sam missed the first few sentences worrying about the fact that they were blocking the only exit from the room, then realized he could hear most of what was said if he held his breath.

"What do you think, Miranda?"

"Well, it's the first mark I've seen on him, although his brother had a black eye a month or so ago. Told his teacher he did it playing baseball. Seemed plausible at the time."

Mr. Pope interupted. "What makes it less plausible now?"

"Hard to put a finger on. I've met every other parent in the class, but not John Winchester. Their transcripts say they move more than Barnum and Bailey. And have you have ever watched the older boy? He guards this one like a hawk. Not normal for kids this young."

"Oh, I don't know. The mother died in a fire, obviously they're a little tight on money. Maybe the dad simply has to work a lot. It'd make the older boy protective."

"None of that explains that bruise. I think Sam's afraid to say anything."

The older man glanced in at the boy now huddled in the oversize chair, then back at his staff. "So what do you want to do?"

"Call the school officer and their dad."

"Okay. Class is out in fifteen minutes, you'll have to go get his brother from Mrs. Widelman's class. See if you can get the officer in here before the boys start comparing notes. I seriously hope you're wrong. I don't like the thought of this going on around here."

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The school officer was there at the end of the day, same as always, prepared for a mind numbing hour of cross walk duty. He was surprised when the school principal came out to meet him, suggesting a teacher handle the traffic for once. Five minutes later he was sitting with an increasingly distraught Sam. After a futile ten minutes, he shook his head. "It's ok son. I'm going to speak with your brother and then we'll sort this all out."

Dean was pacing in the principal's office, anxious to bull his way out of whatever he'd done this time and get out the door. Sam was probably looking for him out on the sidewalk by now. Mrs. Widelman knew he had to walk his brother home, what a stupid time to send him to the office. He wasn't even sure for what. Surely she wasn't still mad about that mouse incident last week. How was he supposed to know it'd go up her pant leg?

"You Dean Winchester?"

Dean was startled to see a blue police uniform instead of Mr Pope's perrienal brown suit. "The one and only."

"Ok, kid. I need to talk to you about your brother. What happened with that bruise on his side?"

Crap. Was Sam hurt worse than he thought? "He probably fell. We horse around a lot. Is he ok?"

"You have a reason to think he might not be?"

"No reason, just asking."

"I tell you what. I think maybe you've got a reason and maybe somebody kicked your brother. We're all going downtown, doctor at the clinic's gonna get a look at Sam, and then we'll find you somewhere to stay tonight."

"Stay? Hey look, that's thoughtful and all, but we've got to get home, so I'll get Sam and we'll be out of your way."

"Good try, but nobody can find your dad right now, so you're stuck with me. I thought you might be reluctant, so Sam's already in the cruiser."

Dean jerked his head up at that. Sam was stuck out in a police car? Shit. Kid was probably scared to death. Dean tried to think through every speech his dad had ever given him about the police and child protective services. Unfortunately, he'd paid a lot more attention to the ones that involved avoiding the situation or getting away. Hadn't really planned on needing the ones about how to handle things once you were caught. What he could remember all sounded unnatural. Be polite, be respectful, call me or Pastor Jim at the first opportunity. Let us do the lying, say as little as possible, act confused as to why I'm not home yet. Well, confused he could probably pull off, but polite?

He silently followed the officer out to the cruiser.

He spotted Sam through the window, shoulders slumped, head hanging. How in the world did Mr. Teacher's Pet end up in the back of a black and white at the age of seven? Weren't there any actual criminals in this town to harrass? Polite, Dean. Dad said polite.

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The clinic exam room was Dean's first opportunity to talk to Sam alone since he'd made the disastrous decision to go to school. He'd done the wrong thing, that much was obvious. Should have taken Sam straight back to the motel and called their dad. "Sammy, you ok?"

"I don't like it here Dean. Let's go home." Sam was doing his best to stiffle a sniff. His eyes wandered over the shiny sea green tile floor wrapped up the first four feet of the walls as well, giving way to soft gray paint. The florescent lights completed the sallow look of the place, glinting of battered white cabinets and counter tops full of medical gizmos of all descriptions.

"I don't much like it either, but we're gonna have to get through tonight. Listen close in case we get split up. Tell the truth about the kick; it's too late to get around that now. Do not tell the truth about Dad being out if town now or ever. We expected him for dinner, Pastor Jim is who we're supposed to call if he's ever late. Do what they tell you, Sammy, and this is going to be ok. Dad will fix this, but we have to buy a little time. Got it?"

"Can't split us up, Dean."

"I'm thinking just when the doctor comes. You can do this. You can. Be a big guy for me."

Sam took a stuterring breath and looked up at his brother. "Don't like doctors, but ok. I can do it."

Sure enough a nurse appeared two minutes later, beckoning at Dean with a finger and a falsely cheery smile. "Why don't you come next door with me? We'll get you back with Sam as soon as we can. Meantime, Dr. Snodgrass will take a look at you while Dr. Philman sees your brother."

Sam cast a pleading look at Dean as he followed the nurse from the room, but Dean only nodded over his shoulder, mouthing 'you can do this.'

The nurse handed Dean a gown as soon as they entered the next room over. "Go ahead and change, I'll step outside. Doc'll be here in a minute."

"Umm, there's nothing wrong with me. You know that, right? Sam's the one with the boo boo. As a matter of fact, I should just go check on him..." Dean started to step around the nurse, but she blocked his path.

"Sorry. We have to be sure you're ok. " Her expression softened a bit, looked like maybe she really was sorry. "The social worker will be here soon with the court papers that say you get a physical exam, but if you're fine, wouldn't it make more sense to do it now?"

Social worker. This keeps getting better. "Yeah, a physical, terrific." He stared at her until she left the room.

Things weren't better next door. Sam was trying his best to get through this whole ridiculous situation, but he wasn't used to being without Dean or his dad. Sure, he wasn't with them at school, but he knew what to expect there. Here, the only advice he had was 'do what they say, be a big guy.' Didn't want to be a big guy. Wanted Dean.

"Sam, you need to change clothes for me, then hop up on the exam table. You need some help or you want me to wait outside?"

"Uh, outside. Do I have to do this? Where's Dean?"

"I'm afraid you have to do this. Dean's fine, he'll be back after the doctor sees you. I'm Karen, I'm with CPS. You know what that is?"

Sam shook his head, shaggy hair hiding deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

"We help take care of kids if their parents can't do that for some reason. I want to help you out Sam, ok?"

"Dad takes care of me."

"We'll talk about that in a little while. I've left him a message at the number the school had and I left a message for someone named Pastor Jim, ok?"

"Kay." Sam eyed the gown suspiciously, shrugging his shoulders when she stepped out. Do what they say...

"Hi Sam. I'm Dr. Philman. I'm going to check on that bruise, make sure you didn't break anything. Might as well check on the rest of you, too, while we're at it. Get you out of this year's check up, huh sport? "

Sam recognized the smile as an attempt to be friendly, and he'd certainly heard other kids talking about check ups, but he'd never been to the doctor unless he was sick. Fortunately, that hadn't been often. By the time he'd gotten through the stick out your tongue, say ah, breathe in, breath out, tap on knees, cough, I'll take a quick peek there routine he was silent, unsure where any of this fell between Dean's do what they say and Dad's don't let anyone touch you rules. Getting kicked by a looney was turning out to be the best part of this whole day.

An hour later both doctors, two nurses, the policeman, and Karen sat at the clinic's conference table, their chair backs scraping the walls in the confines of the tiny room. Dr Snodgrass was doing most of the talking. "The father not being home bit, that's a CPS call. But as far as child abuse goes, the evidence just isn't here. Sure, that bruise is from a kick, but they both tell the same story there. There's not another spot on either of them and no suspicious healed fractures on xray either. They're not afraid when they talk about their dad. I can't tell you why Sam didn't tell anyone at school what happened, but maybe you need to head over to Bridleridge and start poking around in those woods for someone who kicked a kid. That's it from our end, they're all yours Karen."

She flicked her eyes from the doctors to the cop. The teacher she'd spoken to earlier had seemed so sure. "If nothing else, I can't send them home alone for the night. I still haven't heard from their father. The pastor I called did call me back, seemed surprised the boys were alone, assured me John must have had car trouble or something. He's on his way, but can't be here until morning. I have a foster care family that can take both of them until then, longer if need be. Man's name is Derrick Weaver," she extended a business card, "and he'll be here within the hour. So actually until then, they're still all yours. Tell the boys I'll see them in the morning."

"Perfect, now we babysit, too?" Philman asked his partner.

"Looks like. Least I like 'em."

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Dean didn't like this a bit. Not one iota. He had a good sense for people and he didn't like Weaver from first glance. The crisp brown waves of his receding hair, the neatly clipped beard, cabled sweater with the funny suede patches on the elbows, brown cordory pants, should have all added up to some sort of professor, but underneath this was not a nice man. Dean could tell. He had to get through the night in his house. One night. Ok, we can do that. Have to watch out for Sam. If nothing else, they could bust out of the place and take off. Dean remembered all of Dad's advice on how to meet up again if he ever had to run. Quickly scanning the exam room while the nurse went to get Sam, he spotted an unlocked cabinet. Hmm, cottonballs and tongue depressors. He'd been hoping for a scalpel blade.

Sam fell in behind Dean as they walked out to the waiting car, eyes glued to the floor. He grabbed a fistful of jacket at the small of Dean's back, willing the day to just end. Mr. Weaver said hello to him as they climbed in the back seat, but Sam ignored him, scooting across the seat to put his head in Dean's lap. It was after eleven PM and he was exhausted. Dean never let him stay up past nine thirty on a school night. The car was already in third gear by the time he looked up and caught Weaver's face in the rear view mirror.

Sam clamped his hand into Dean's thigh, eyes wide as saucers, breath audibly sucked in. His whisper was nearly silent, but urgent none the less. "Him!"

Dean mouthed "What?" at his hyperventilating sibling, but he had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.

"It's him. He kicked me."