That night Dean trashed his room, went out to a bar and nearly drank himself to death, only to come back and dream of his little brother crawling into the backseats of cars and slinking into sleazy motels.

When he woke the next morning, he felt sick, and not just from the monster hangover. His stomach rolled and he peered around the room, taking in the shattered lamp, the cracked TV screen, and the papers that were scattered everywhere.

He still had one grasped in his hand, and he opened his fist to see that it was Sam's new number. Dean sighed and scanned it once before shoving it into his pocket.

Call him, a voice whispered in his mind, and he was a little surprised to hear that it sounded not unlike Sam's.

He gingerly got up from the bed, wincing as his head pounded rhythmically with pain. He scooped up his cellphone from the floor and sat down at the foot of the bed, absentmindedly fiddling with it.

Finally he shakily dialed, and held the phone up to ear.

"Sam! Hon, you've got a phone call," Victoria called. Sam rubbed his eyes and stumbled to Heather's room, where the phone was kept. When he got there, Heather welcomed him inside with a small smile.

He liked Heather a lot, she was very sweet and kind, and didn't deserve to be where she was. She had very light blonde hair and eyes the color of the noon sky, and was a very small girl, with a height of 5'1.

The two of them standing next to each other was always amusing to other people. Sam looked like a giant that could topple mountains and Heather looked as small as a mouse.

Kitty was always trying to sink her claws into her, get her to try some what she had in those little plastic bags. That was the only time Sam ever got angry with Kitty, so she never seemed to turn up when he was with Heather.

Sam approached the phone nestled in the corner of the room, resting halfway in it's cradle. He picked it up, having a hunch on who it was, and it wasn't a client he had in mind.

Raising it to his ear, he waited for a minute before whispering, "Dean?"

There was a soft intake of breath, and Dean's voice came over the line, rough and weary. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Um, look," he tried, "Can we talk? Meet up somewhere."

As if he could see Sam's hesitant expression, he quickly added, "I won't try to convince you to do anything. I swear, I just want to talk, man."

Sam swallowed and slowly nodded before he remembered Dean couldn't see him. "Okay," he said, hoping the tremble in his voice was subtle enough for Dean to overlook.

"Okay. Uh, you wanna meet for breakfast somewhere? I think there's a diner around here," Dean suggested awkwardly, and Sam could hear some rustling as Dean walked around.

Sam tapped his fingers against his thigh. Damn it. He didn't have the money for something like that and he really didn't want to have to say it out loud.

"My treat," Dean continued, "Only 'cause I'm draggin' ya out here."

Sam felt kinda guilty, but also pretty relieved.

"'Kay. I'll meet you. Eight?"

"Sure."

Dean was excited, by he also dreaded it. He wouldn't be able to look at his brother without thinking about what he was doing. Dean loved his brother, there was no denying that, but he had no idea how to handle this.

So he responded in true Winchester fashion. He got angry. Hopefully the hotel manager would keep room service out for a while, at least until he left, because he really didn't want to have to deal with the wreckage in his room.

The diner was a small, brightly lit place with white walls and sunny yellow furniture. If you looked at the yellow too long, it got sickening, so he just sat down at watched people pass outside the window.

There was a shuffle and Sam slid smoothly into the booth, on the other side of the table. Dean blinked. Sam looked different than yesterday.

The day before, he looked like a regular guy, with a black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. Now, he was dressed in a light grey shirt that stretched tight across his chest, the color making his golden skin look even darker.

His jeans were a deep black and torn around the knees and thighs and his sneakers were black too, but much older than the rest of his clothes.

His hair was unkempt and fluffy and black eyeliner was smudge expertly around his eyes, making the green in them glow brightly.

"After this, I'm working," Sam told him. Dean nodded. Sam eyed him, with his pale skin and stringy hair. "You look like shit."

Dean squinted at Sam, taking in the slight shake in Sam's frame and the dark circles under Sam's eyes. "You don't look so great, either."

"I had a rough night," Sam quipped, knowing full well Dean did too.

A waitress approached, and she took their order, or rather Dean's, because she wouldn't look at Sam, and Dean got the impression that she was trying to pretend Sam didn't exist.

"She knows what I am," Sam said evenly, watching Dean closely for he was curious of his reaction, "Everyone here does." Dean glanced around and sure enough, people were ignoring Sam like the plague.

"Screw them," Dean said, a little louder than necessary. Sam blinked, and a small warmth appeared in his chest, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time, he told himself.

Sam intertwined his fingers, laying his forearms on the cool plastic of the table. The waitress soon came with their food. Sam had been nervous about ordering as much as he did, but Dean encouraged him.

Almost half of it he got put in styrofoam boxes so he could take it home to the house.

It would most certainly be a welcome surprise. When Dean gave him a questioning look, he muttered, "The others haven't eaten something like this in a long time."

Dean nodded and they ate their food, Sam practically wolfing it down, which was something that most certainly caught Dean's attention.

Sam could barely believe he was getting this worked up over diner food. And not even good diner food. Which showed how long exactly he'd been eating sandwiches.

After they finished, and the waitress had taken their dishes away, the two sat there and looked at each other, minutes ticking by in silence. Dean licked his lips, and glanced down, breaking their staring contest.

"I just want to know...why? Out of all the things you could've done for money, why this?" Muscles shifted in Sam's jaw as he clenched it tightly.

Dean swallowed and inwardly sighed when it seemed like Sam wasn't going to answer.

"Look, I get why you're asking, and I know you feel guilty about what I'm doing. But it wasn't your decision, so just...let it go."

Dean frowned. "I don't think I can do that." He looked up at Sam, suddenly disgusted by what Sam was wearing. "God, you're selling yourself for sex! What the hell drove you to do that?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "People who sell themselves aren't as disgusting as you think they are," he growled.

"Aren't they?" Dean snapped, the words falling from his lips before he could hold them back.

There was a brief flash of hurt in Sam's eyes, a flash of Sam, before they closed off and became hard and cold. Dean couldn't believe what he just said. Son of a bitch, he swore to himself.

"Sam,' he began, tone apologetic. Sam didn't say a word as he stood up, and he didn't have to. The stony look on his face said it all.

Dean stood up too, panicked that if Sam walked out the door Dean might never find him again, and that scared him more than anything.

"Sam, wait, I'm sorry-"

Sam rounded on him, and Dean took a step back. Sam several inches taller than him, so his cold fury was very intimidating as he towered over him. "I want you to leave me alone," he hissed.

Then he turned around and left and Dean felt a prickle in his eyes, warning him of oncoming tears, and he shoved them down, disgusted with himself.

Damn it.

Dean left a few minutes after Sam and simply wandered around in the city, hands shoved in his pockets.

"This sucks ass," he growled to himself.

Suddenly, cool air tickled the back of his neck and he slowed to a stop. He glanced to the left, where a dark alley waited, swathed in shadows. He scowled, but moved towards it anyway, left hand reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his waistband.

"Hunter," a voice whispered. Dean inhaled and twisted around, only to come face to face with eyes as black as night. They glittered with malice.

Then next thing he knew was pain, searing pain shot through his body and filled his skull, and then nothing.