I am horrible.

I am an awful writer and a bad human being.

I read through the story and realized my mistakes, especially with the description of Kitty (that can never be excused) and I know that to fix it would take time and effort I really don't want to put in.

For that, I am deeply sorry.

I also need to thank each and every person who reviewed.

Those reviews give me a warm, happy feeling and I usually end up grinning like an idiot for at least five minutes. Each and every one of them I take to heart and I love taking suggestions, altering the writing to answer questions, and just to see how you like it.

It convinces me to keep writing, so again, thank you.

Dean was so ungodly uncomfortable, it was ridiculous.

Sam stood there and pretended like Dean didn't exist, flaunting himself to everyone who drove past. Eventually, someone stopped and Sam grinned and flirted with the driver for a few minutes before climbing into his car.

It took only about twenty minutes, but it felt like a millions years for Dean, and he just wrinkled his nose and tried to think about anything other than what his baby brother was doing in the passenger seat of that car.

Sam climbed out, tucking a wad of bills into his pocket and popping a mint into his mouth as the car sped away.

"You good? You done? Can we go?"

Sam just snorted and rolled his eyes, resuming his former position against the fence with his thumbs hooked lazily in the front pockets of his jeans. "Not by a long shot, Dean," he murmured.

Dean suppressed a groan. He sighed impatiently and briefly glanced around. It was dark and it was chilly, by the looks of the small, white clouds coming from Sam's mouth every time he exhaled.

"You cold?" he asked. Sam shrugged. "Eh, not really. You kinda get used to it after a while."

Dean winced internally.

"Hey, I was wondering," he began, and Sam glanced at him warily out of the corner of his eye. "What did Ben do, exactly? I've never seen you so angry with someone, not even Dad."

Sam went rigid and Dean wondered if he said the wrong thing, though he wasn't sure if it was the comment about Ben or Dad, or both. Sam's fingers scraped at the material of his pants and Dean narrowed his eyes.

Sam was on edge, nervous, and the light flush on the back of his neck told Dean that he was ashamed. Anger coursed through his veins. Ben had done something to Sam, but what?

And depending on the severity, Ben might not be breathing easily for much longer.

"Sam," he said softly, "What did he do?"

Sam was shaking, and that set off so many alarms in Dean's head that he himself was getting panicked. Sam was internally freaking out. He was so frightened, but he wasn't sure what it was about exactly.

Unwanted memories creeped towards the front of his mind and he licked his lips. "It's nothing," he lied, voice rough. He could feel Dean's gaze on him, worried and disbelieving, searching for signs in Sam's body language.

Dean wanted to push the subject, but another car pulled up, a regular client, if the recognition in Sam's eyes was anything to go by. It took a lot longer than the previous one, lasting nearly an hour before Sam emerged from the black chevy, dark red marks on his neck.

Sam called it quits and went back to the house, refusing to look at Dean at all. They went up to his room, where Sam sat down and lit up another cigarette. What he really wanted to do was to pull out the cocaine under the top right corner of his mattress, but there was no way in hell he was snorting that stuff in front of his brother.

He could see the displeasure on Dean's face, but at the moment he didn't really care. Sam was curious as to what time it was, but if he wanted to know, he'd have to go check the clock in Talia's room, and he really wasn't in the mood to get up.

"I'm going to bed, feel free to explore the place or somethin'," Sam said, and Dean huffed indignantly.

As Sam dozed off, Dean got to his feet and crept out into the hall. It was dark, except for a few candles that were lit and were spread out down the length of the hall. Some people spoke in hushed whispers, and other laughed openly while playing cards or trading cigarettes.

"What did you say to Sam to get him so pissed at you?"

Dean stopped and glanced over into the room next to him. Victoria and Ben sat on a bed, side by side, Ben glowering and Victoria looking at the floor and waiting for his answer.

"Well, it got brought up, and I kind of...told him it was that big of a deal-" Victoria cut him off with a harsh slap to the face, in the same spot Sam hit him on. Ben grabbed his face, hissing in pain. ""Damn it! Look, it was a stupid thing to say, I know."

Victoria clenched her jaw. "He'll never forgive you, and frankly, neither will I. You had no right to do that to him." Ben didn't say anything, and she visibly deflated. "But I know you regret doing it."

She sighed. "God, Ben, what drove you to that?"

Ben shrugged. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I never thought I'd do it, but heh, look at where I am now. At first, I wanted to work at getting him to forgive me, but he's such a goddamn-"

Victoria cut him off again, tone sharp and clipped. "You raped him, Ben. Two days after you did it, he set out to kill you. I stopped him, and I don't know if he'll ever forgive me for that."

Dean was floored. It was like the weight on the entire world was pressing down on him, and he was so lost.

"I wish I never did it," Ben said.

Dean had heard enough, and he turned on his heel and stalked back to the room, sitting down next to Sam's mattress and breathing hard. "Oh my God, Sam," he whispered.

Sam didn't know what was up with Dean, but he didn't like it. Dean barely spoke to him, and when he did, it was with soft spoken tones. Sam kept working, but he knew that when it was done, he would grill his brother for answers.

They were walking the streets, side by side, and Sam ignored some of the leers sent his way. While it was his job to serve others, he knew the signs of bad news, and some of them were certainly it.

"Hey, hooka'," a voice called, and both stopped, Dean glancing over at Sam and frowning at the wide smile that spread over Sam's face.

The owner of the voice turned out to be a tall, well built black man, part of a gang if the symbol on his sleeve meant anything. The two hugged and Sam clicked his tongue. "Hey, Ethan."

Ethan wrinkled his nose and detached from the hug. "Man, don't use ma name out here. Bad for my image." Sam chuckled but held his hands up in surrender.

"Whatever. So, what's up?"

Ethan replied smoothly, "Just workin' the way, bro. You?" Dean shifted from one foot to the other and looked back and forth between the two, trying to figure out how and why Sam had ties with someone in a gang.

Sam exhaled loudly. "Same as usual, man." Ethan nodded. Another man walked up, a latino, stopping several feet away and he whistled once. Ethan turned his head and nodded knowingly to the other man, who nodded back and started walking.

"Shoot, man, I gotta roll." Sam nodded and Ethan said, "Hey, next time you swing by, hit me up and we can hang, kay? See ya later, man." Ethan jogged off and Sam waved him goodbye.

Dean didn't ask, and Sam didn't tell.

Later that night, Sam went back out onto the streets. Dean slowly watched his brother grow more and more exhausted as the hours went by, but he just stayed silent.

They were sitting on the side of the road, and Sam was quickly counting his cash, nervously glancing around. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dude, what's up? What're looking around for?"

Sam pursed his lips. "It's not a good idea to count money out on the streets. Someone could take it from you. But I don't have a choice; Susan's really sick and Lily doesn't have enough money for meds. I'm trying to figure out if I need to hit one more client tonight."

Dean sighed, but nodded.

Sam felt a light chill go up his spine seconds before a shadow fell over him. Slowly, he raised his head and looked up at the man standing above him. He was incredibly well built, with black hair and his mouth was set in a permanent scowl.

"Hand over your money, whore," he spat. Sam swallowed and hesitantly stood up, hoping the guy would be a little more put off by his height, but the guy only inched forward. Dean was beginning to panic.

Sam couldn't just give the guy the money. Almost the entire third floor was sick, so everyone was burning cash trying to get them better. Sam was sent out in the morning to get the building food and supplies, along with funding for Lily.

Dean whispered, "Sam, give it to him," though he knew his brother would do no such thing.

Sam shook his head. "No," he said forcefully, and he buried the cash in his pocket, the other hand already curling into a fist. But the other man was faster, and within second, Sam was slamming against the concrete.

"Get off of me!" Sam shouted, hoping to get someone's attention, anyone, as the man began whaling on him.

He bucked and kicked wildly, briefly dislodging his assailant's grip on him and he scrabbled at the ground, shoes trying to find purchase on the sidewalk. The man wrapped a thick arm around his midsection, the other plunging into his pocket.

The man pocketed the money, and Sam swore angrily, struggling frantically in the man's grip. The man shoved him to the ground, punching him in the face for good measure as he hooked his fingers into Sam's waistband.

Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing, and he wanted to curl into a ball and scream because he couldn't do anything to help.

Sam managed to ram his knee into the man's gut, hard, and he felt his confidence boost as the man let out a pained grunt. He flipped over onto his knees and quickly crawled forward, wincing as the cement scraped his hands and wrists.

Sam scrambled to his feet and took off, Dean hot on his heels.