A/N: Sam has fled from Ruby into 'Smith's' arms where he succumbed to exhaustion and had a nap...

Bought And Sold (Chapter 12: Truth Will Come To Light) by frostygossamer

Sam was woken from a few minutes' light sleep by the sound of Dean stealthily re-entering his room. He had slipped out to 'deal with' a regular, a woman who came by weekly for her no-frills quickie, over in Jay's room while Jay was on his break. He had also organized Vic, the guy with the godlike stamina, to 'take care of' his next client for him this once. He was going to owe him for that favour, but Dean needed to make sure he and Sam got a couple minutes alone time. They had talking to do.

Dean smiled when he saw that Sam was awake. He climbed onto the bed beside him and pulled him close, kissing the top of his head. Sam brought his face up to Dean's and pressed their lips together. It was a long and desperate kiss, full of love and longing. When he was with his 'Smith', Sam felt he could still be hopeful. Dean? Well, he felt exactly the opposite.

"It's late. You oughta get moving," Dean whispered. "You need to go get your things and disappear tonight."

Sam leaned back, his eyes searching Dean's for a long moment.

"Come with me," he begged. "They can't keep you here. We can start new someplace else..."

Dean shook his head sadly. If only it was that easy.

"They can," he said. "They can keep me here as long as they want. Think I wouldn't've run already if I coulda?"

Sam frowned. "But why the heck not?"

Dean's expression became deadly serious.

"They'd hurt my kid," he explained.

Sam sat up, his eyes widening. This was a piece of news to him. Dean had never mentioned having a child before. That was because it was something he never shared with anyone, one of the few personal things he got to keep. He felt talking about Samuel could hex the poor kid somehow.

"Y-you have a kid?" Sam murmured, a little confused.

Dean nodded. "An arranged marriage, when I was a teen. I- I was a virgin bridegroom. My missus, Jo, she used me to get the girl baby she needed, is all. But she wound up with an unwanted boy in the bargain."

"You got TWO kids?" murmured Sam in amazement.

"Kinda," agreed Dean. "The girl was her momma's princess. Didn't need me around. The boy, he was different. They treated him like crap. So I took him and ran."

Sam was having trouble assimilating this new development.

"Y-you TOOK him? So, uh, where's the kid now?" he wondered. "Here?"

Dean sighed deeply. "In Appalachia. Took him to a men's refuge run by this old guy name of Bobby Singer. Great guy, by the way. He helped me out a lot. But my in-laws hired some people, found me there, kidnapped me, brung me to this freakin' place. The kid's still at the refuge with Bobby, I truly hope. But they know where to find him. They can go get him anytime they want, anytime I step outta line. And then... they'll hurt him. Or worse. They're not scared of the law, if you get my drift."

Sam was silent for a moment, letting that information sink in. He had never asked the guy what kept him at the manhouse. He had assumed they had gotten him hooked on something, drugs. Drugs he could have helped him with, but this... He could only shrug.

"Smith, I know I gotta get outta town, but I can't leave you here," he said. "WON'T leave you here. I- I love you."

Dean had to turn his face away to hide his reaction. No one had ever told him that before. No one except... except his Sammy. But Sam wasn't Sammy. He had almost made himself believe that. Dean gritted his teeth to stop from breaking down.

"You gotta, Sam," he insisted. "Get yourself far away, someplace safe. Forget about me. Go back where you came from, huh? Go home."

It was Sam's turn to sigh. He blew his bangs off of his face and shook his head.

"Can't go home," he said. "My brother's gone and my dad passed last year. There's nothing in Lawren for me now. Not a damn thing."

Dean couldn't help but let out a tiny gasp.

"Your dad's... dead?" he asked. No, he was NOT talking about John. And, anyway, this was not Sammy. He couldn't be.

Sam nodded sadly. "Uh-huh," he confirmed. "He got me into college. Shame he never got to see me graduate. Jeez, I guess I never will now."

Dean sat up straight and reached for his box of Kleenex, so Sam could dry his eyes and blow his nose. Sam sat there, shoulders slumped, thinking about his dad and how their dreams had stumbled so close to the wire.

For months Dean had been trying hard not to believe the worst, not to believe that this Sam could be HIS Sam, his baby brother. The guy had to be some OTHER Sam Campbell from Lawren, Kansas, right? He knew he shouldn't dig, but for some reason he had to know.

"And your mom?" he asked nervously, scared of the answer Sam might give him.

"No mom," Sam answered. "She died in a fire back when I was a baby. No, it was always just Dad and me, and my big brother Dean."

Dean inhaled sharply. So there was no doubt. It was way TOO much of a coincidence to be just a coincidence. This Sam WAS his Sam. OK, so Dean's bad luck was consistent at least. The only guy he had ever gotten mixed up with, the only human being he had ever wanted to be with, had turned out to be his own brother.

He took a deep breath. OK, so maybe it was true, but Sam didn't ever need to know it. Because he was never going to see Dean again. He was going to go someplace and be fine and forget him. It broke Dean's heart, but he knew it had to be that way.

Dean felt his resolution strengthen. He grabbed Sam and pulled him up, pushing him toward the door. But Sam turned around and pushed back, seeking eye contact. Dean stared him down coldly.

"Listen," growled the older guy. "You're leaving right now, Sam. You're gonna take your crap and jump on a train and go someplace, anyplace, where you'll be safe. And you're gonna forget about me. For good. You hear? Got enough shit in my life already. Don't need you in it too." He grasped the doorknob and yanked the door open wide. "Now go. Get the fuck out."

Sam's eyes betrayed the hurt behind them. "Smith?!" he murmured.

Dean bundled him out the room and slammed the door, leaning against it as he panted, his heart thumping. He threw his head back, bumping it against the wood carelessly. He had to hope that Sam would take the damn hint and walk away.

A single tear stole down his cheek unasked. He brushed it away with the back of his hand.

OK, so he WAS going to cry this time. But not right now.

~o~

Sam ran from the manhouse into the city night in a state of desperate bewilderment. Before he knew where he was, he had found himself outside the brightly lit City Police Department building. He stopped and considered. He was going to split town, but at least he could report the manhouse and maybe help Smith before he had to disappear. He walked inside and stomped up to the desk.

The woman desk sergeant proceeded to ignore him for quite some time. It took a moment before Sam remembered that he was dressed as a man. He had automatically become a low priority.

"Missus," he began, interrupting the officer's studied disregard of him. "Wanna report a crime."

The sergeant slowly finished writing and put down her pen.

"A crime?" she asked, raising a doubting eyebrow. "Really? YOU wanna report a crime?"

She said it like she thought a mere male wouldn't know what the heck a crime even was.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam continued hastily. "There's this 'house', a manhouse. They call it 'Plucky's House of Fun'. They're keeping this guy there against his will, threatening his family, and..."

The heavy-set, middle-aged woman chuckled. "And how would YOU know this?" she asked suspiciously. "You belong there, boy? You one of Plucky's pretties, huh?"

Sam recoiled. "Heck no, missus. I, uh, I got this friend..."

The woman gave a knowing nod. "Oh, yeah, sure," she agreed, dismissively. "You got this 'friend'."

Sam shook his head. "No, no, no," he gabbled. "His name is Smith. He was kidnapped. That's a federal offense, right?"

Suddenly he realized that he didn't know Smith's first name. Or was 'Smith' his first name?

"He- he's being held there, held a prisoner. You gotta help," he pleaded.

~o~

Ten minutes later Sam was seated at a table in a tiny interview room. The door opened and a sharp-suited female detective entered the room, a folder under her arm. She greeted Sam briefly and sat down in the chair across from him.

The short, black policewoman centred her folder in front of her and smiled up at the larger guy.

"O... kay," she began, with a weary sigh. "Let's just see here, sweetie. You wanna report some alleged 'manhouse' for 'imprisoning' a friend of yours, huh?"

Sam nodded urgently. "Yeah. The place's called 'Plucky's House of Fun'. You gotta know it. It's less than a half mile from here."

The detective leafed through her folder lazily.

"'Plucky's' you say?" she queried. "Ah, here it is." She ran a manicured finger down the printed details. "'Plucky's House of Fun and Fitness'? It's a legitimate physical training facility. All the correct permits, licences check out, taxes paid up. We got no problems with the place."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"B-but," he stammered. "No way is Plucky's legit. They got guys there who gotta service the clientele with more than just a rubdown. You gotta know what's going on there."

The detective stared Sam squarely in the face. "Like I said. They pay their taxes."

Smith was right. Those jerks had the police in their pockets. Sam should have known the law wouldn't give a damn about a few desperate hookers.

She turned over a page. "The name was 'Smith', huh?" she murmured.

Sam immediately wished he hadn't mentioned Smith's name. He was going to get him in trouble, drawing attention to him that way.

"Yeah. OK," she continued. "Sure he's registered right here. Got him down as a 'Personal Trainer'. Looks like his contract was signed by his next-of-kin, his father, one 'John Campbell né Winchester' of Lawren, Kansas. Everything kosher, looks like. Plucky's is his legal guardian now. See. All signed and sealed."

She flashed the file under Sam's nose before slamming it shut and leaning back in her chair, her arms smugly crossed.

"Reckon you got your facts wrong, sweetie," she finished. "Nothing criminal going on there."

But Sam wasn't listening to her anymore. His mind was racing.

John Campbell? His dad's name. And how many John Winchesters were there in Lawren who had married a Missus Campbell? Plus he had recognized that signature, his dad's illiterate scrawl. But it couldn't be. It could NOT be. Smith could NOT be Dean, HIS Dean, his long-lost big brother. How could he be? Dean was in the UQ, wasn't he? How could he have ended up there, in a manhouse. Jeez, not Dean, not his brother!

But deep inside he knew it was true. It explained so much. Right from the start, Smith had seemed so empathetic, so understanding. And they were always so comfortable together, always on the same wavelength. How could they be any other way when they were family?

Hardly able to breathe, Sam staggered out of the police building onto the busy sidewalk, the police officer's cold laughter following him outside.

He needed to find a telephone.

TBC

A/N: So now they both know. But neither knows that the other knows. More soon.