It should have been simple.

Sam hangs out with his friend. Sam and his friend do homework. Dean gets to have some time with Cherie. Dean picks Sam up. Dean thanks Andre for his hospitality and for taking care of Sam, while scrutinizing little brother to make sure Andre did indeed take care of his brother. Dean and Sam get pizza. Everyone is happy.

But Dean should have known that happiness is not a popular in their vocabulary. Isn't he painfully reminded of that in the way that Sam's eyes light up at the mention of pizza? Isn't it remembered how their lives are torn and hang by lose threads, and Dean knows sometimes the only thing that keeps him from unraveling is Sam? That the fierce loyalty he has to his father, is born out of the desire to keep his Sammy safe?

But Dean is still a young boy himself, and even soldiers are human.

And he forgets that the patterns of their lives are never simple, and when they do revel themselves, all hell breaks loose.

It's a twisted irony that it's not any supernatural forces that comes out, but just evil.

"You should go home." Mitchell said suddenly, his eyes skimming over the textbook before jotting in his neat scrawl. Sam stopped, and narrowed his eyes at his friend.

Something him with how Mitchell had said those words. It wasn't a question, nor was it an order. It was a casual suggestion made to seem innocent. But Sam was trained, and in it he sensed a warning.

"Why? My brother's not here yet, so I can't." Sam said slowly, watching Mitchell's reaction.

"Mm, I know." Finally, Mitchell's eyes flicked up to his. The brown orbs had lost any warmth, replaced instead by calm resignation. And if Sam looked deeper-which he always did-he saw dread.

"What's going on?"

Mitchell's eyes went to the door, and then back to Sam's.

"I can't tell you. I know what you're like. You should go through my window, by the way."

Sam looked at his friend in disbelief.

"Right. You know what I'm like. Well, why say something like that? It might just be easier to tell me the truth. Then I can decide if I want to stay or not." Now Sam was the calm one.

"Go now."

"No, I won't." Sam moved the discarded books and pencils, and folded his arms defiantly.

"Oh yes very heroic now. So much like your big brother, right? Well, Andre is not scared of him, and he certainly won't be scared of you." Mitchell was snarling the words now, and Sam could only sit there and process them as they were thrown at him. It wasn't exactly what his friend was saying-it was what he wasn't saying.

It was what was in the tone, and in the tight wrinkles on his forehead, the width of eyes.

Mitchell was deeply afraid.

And Sam?

Sam was trained. He was calm.

"Why would any of us have to be the heroes? Don't just shake your head at me. Tell me."

"I don't want to."

"I think you do. But you want to protect me. Well, I don't need anyone else's protection. I've got Dean's, and it seems to me that you're the one who needs it. What's going on Mitchell?" Sam's arms slipped away, and he leaned forwards, using Dean's captive move. Usually, Dean would take hold of Sam's shoulders, securing him not just with his eyes and posture, but physically as well.

But, Mitchell didn't need that.

"He's going to get his friends over. They're going to-they're going to come in here. Me they're used to. Me they like-why else would they keep coming? But you? You're fresh meat. You're what they would call pretty."

Sam was silent. Outwardly he remained calm, as if undisturbed. He had schooled his features into a blank look, as if they were having a conversation about the weather and not-and not something else entirely.

But on the inside, Sam was cold.

It was making sense now, a horrible sense-except this went far beyond whatever explanation Sam could have possibly thought of. There was a great wrong being done here, an ill that Sam had to fix, to cure.

In the midst of this, he remembered another conversation.

"So why can't we fight those types of monsters? Child molesters, abusers. Those sorts."

"I know, Sam. But there are plenty out there who can fight those things. And believe me, brother, if I witnessed it, that would be another story. Besides the obvious reasons we do what we do? Imagine going to seek these things. It would be very difficult to try and find patterns. They don't work like supernatural beings do, Sam. They're human. And that's the worst part about it, isn't it? You can't blame their actions on anything but themselves."

Sam knew what Dean would want him to do. Pick up the phone-call him and get the hell out. Don't do anything dumb, I don't care about anyone else but you. You get out. Those words rung in Sam's mind, but as he looked at his friend, he knew he couldn't obey all orders.

"I'm going to call my brother." Sam finally said quietly, and reached into his pocket.

"No, I really don't think you are." Another voice said from the door. Sam slowly looked up and into the dark pools of Andre's eyes and smirk.

A/N: I honestly don't know where this came from. I like to apparently go down twisted dark paths. So I'm SORRY if this isn't what you expected. If you don't like this stuff please stop reading for your own sake. If you do continue please let me know your thoughts and what not. I love writing, and I love writing about these guys (who are sadly not my own) and I love hearing from ya'll. Trust me, it makes me write faster ;)