Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters don't belong to me.

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Dean's senses were on full alert as soon as he woke up, his eyes immediately tracking to the warm bundle pressed against his side. Sam was curled up so his head was tucked directly underneath Dean's chin, his hands fisted in the older brother's shirt. Dean sighed and relaxed back into his pillow, angling his head down to place a light kiss to his little brother's mop of brown hair. Dean knew he needed to get up and start on breakfast, but he felt so utterly content just lying in bed with his kid that he didn't want to move.

They rarely had moments of pure peace like this. Their reality was an unpleasant one, and had been the entire year since their father had died. While John had left behind a substantial amount of cash to his sons in the event of his death, Dean had put the majority of it to paying the rent for their shitty apartment—and it had to be shitty for two reasons. One, so he could spread the cash over as large an amount of time as possible; unfortunately, those funds were dangerously low, so that was practically a moot point now. Two, shady places like the one they were staying were the only ones who would accept payment from a 14 year old without question. As long as the landlord got his money, he wouldn't go ratting to CPS about the clear lack of a parent.

The food supply was meager, and it showed. Dean always gave Sammy the lion's share of the food when he could, but both boys' ribs were quite apparent, and their once-fitting clothes hung loose on them. Since most of the money went to putting a roof over their heads, Dean had to steal quite often. He'd become a near expert at it over the past year. Sammy had qualms about it at first, ever the moral little brother, but even he wasn't past nicking a loaf of bread or a candy bar every now and then.

Neither brother attended school, for very obvious reasons. A teacher would take one look at them and have CPS called within five minutes. There was no way in hell Dean was risking that. No one was taking his little brother away from him. He'd kill anyone who tried.

Sammy was his entire reason for existing. The kid was the only one able to put a smile on Dean's face when things got really crappy. It had always been that way, even before they'd been orphaned, but his love and protectiveness towards his little brother had only been amplified since John had died. Sam's dimples and puppy dog eyes alone could melt anyone's heart, but it was his cleverness and kindness and sass and youthful joy that broke down Dean's defenses and left only open affection for the boy. He was Dean's only source of warmth in their cold world. Dean was Sam's brother, his parent, and his best friend. And Sam was Dean's heart and soul.

Dean rolled his eyes at his own mushy thoughts, glancing over at the analog clock above the fridge. It read just a few minutes past 6:20 a.m., and Dean groaned internally. He had to be at work by 7:00, and it was a fifteen minute walk, but he liked to get there a little early to make sure Sammy was set up with something to do. Usually he just read a book or did schoolwork, but there were some days that Dean managed to convince Anne to turn on the small tv in the backroom so his brother could watch cartoons.

Anne was the owner of the little mom-and-pop grocery store where Dean worked part time to make some extra cash. She was a spritely 60-something year old woman with enough attitude to rival Dean and enough compassion to offer him a job knowing full well he wasn't even 15 yet. She was a Philadelphia local, born and raised, and understood the hardships of poor living. Her experienced eye had caught Dean a few months ago when he'd attempted to use the five finger discount on some peanut butter. Instead of handing him over to the police (which he never would have allowed to happen due to his responsibility to take care of Sammy), Anne had lectured him about the importance of an honest lifestyle, then promptly told him "lucky for you, kid, I'm no snitch, and it just so happens I've got a position available effective right now." Dean had been tempted to toss her the finger and bolt, but he had needed the money, and he was tired of Sam having to go to sleep with a growling stomach. So, he'd reluctantly accepted, on the condition that he be able to bring his little brother to work with him. Anne had agreed without a fuss, and within a week of Dean working there, Sammy had the older woman wrapped around his finger.

Now it was Sunday, their busiest day of the week, and Dean was not looking forward to it. He didn't mind the work; in fact, he liked having something to do, no matter how tedious. It was just that he hated large crowds. He knew what was really out there, and he was constantly on alert for possible dangers. At his insistence, Anne had let him keep his sawed-off shotgun in the backroom. Most business owners in this part of town kept some form of protection in their stores anyway, so she hadn't minded all that much, nor been very surprised. Still, she'd warned him that if he ever pulled the trigger in her shop without a life on the line, his ass would be fired. He figured that was a fair deal.

The clock now showed 6:25, so Dean lightly shook his brother's shoulder to wake him. "Sammy, c'mon bud, rise and shine," he whispered. Sam jolted a bit, then groggily raised his head off Dean's chest, his eyes squinty and unfocused.

"Time's'it?" He mumbled, stretching his arm out like a cat as he rolled onto his back.

Dean chuckled at the sleepy pronunciation and ruffled his little brother's hair as he got off their shared mattress. "Time for breakfast. Let's go, buddy. Chop chop," Dean remarked as he headed over to the kitchen to make them both some cereal. As he grabbed bowls out of the cabinets, he heard Sam's uncoordinated shuffling behind him as he worked to get up. A couple seconds later there was a quiet click as the bathroom door shut. Dean laughed under his breath as he poured the cereal then the milk, always amused by his brother's insistence on privacy. Dean had been changing and bathing the kid since he was in diapers, but Sam still felt the need to shut the door to pee.

He heard the muted sound of a flush, along with running water from the sink as Sam presumably brushed his teeth. Once Sam emerged, looking all of four years old as he rubbed at his eyes, Dean set one of the bowls on their small, rickety table. "Eat. You wash your hands?" He pointed to the chair as he spoke, then sat down himself. Sam shot him his patented bitchface, but his tone was soft when he answered.

"Yeah."

Dean nodded, and they ate in comfortable silence after that. He finished first, always quick to devour a meal, and stood to get dressed and ready while his brother kept eating. He dropped his bowl in the sink and grabbed some clothes from the dresser for himself and picked out an additional outfit for Sam, tossing the latter onto the mattress for when his brother was done eating. When Dean entered the bathroom to get dressed, pee, and brush his teeth, he left the door wide open. He never put a barrier between himself and Sam if he could help it.

By the time Dean exited the bathroom, Sam was dressed and ready to go, zipping up the too-large hand-me-down jacket that used to belong to Dean. He needed a new coat, but it was still early fall in Philly. They could hold off on spending the money for at least a few more weeks.

Dean put on his own jacket and tucked his knife into his boot, the one he always had on or near his person. He felt naked without some sort of weapon on him when he was outside the apartment. He would've preferred to carry a gun, but that would definitely raise eyebrows. Plus, they didn't have the money for ammo, so their current supply had to be saved for emergencies.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" Dean clapped Sam on the back lightly, and his brother nodded, flipping his bangs out of his eyes. Dean brushed the soft, brown strands away from his face with absentminded affection, then opened the door. They both stepped through, and Sam waited patiently to the side while Dean locked it.

"Winchester!" The sudden booming voice made Sam flinch and Dean straighten up and tense. Their landlord, Ivan, was sauntering over to them at a leisurely pace, taking a puff of his cigarette and blowing smoke directly towards them. Sam grimaced at the smell and stepped closer to Dean as his big brother took up a solid, protective stance in front of him. He was tall for being only fourteen, coming up to Ivan's nose. While the older boy feigned a relaxed, carefree vibe, Sam could feel the tension in his muscles as he gripped Dean's shirt.

"You're up early, Ivan," Dean noted, a mocking edge to his tone. "Have trouble sleeping? Did the wife kick you out?" He pressed, knowing full well that Ivan had no family. Sam chewed his lip, always concerned when Dean purposefully provoked the larger man.

Ivan ignored the jibe, flicking the cigarette away and stomping on it with a lazy sneer. "I hope you've been workin' hard, boy," he quipped. "Don't forget rent's due by the end of the week," he reminded Dean, sniffing harshly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Have I ever been late with a payment?" He pointed out with an irritated sigh.

Ivan shrugged. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p,' then he grinned wickedly. "Guess that's why I like keepin' ya 'round," he added. The nearly feral gleam in his eyes sent a shiver down Sam's spine, and he clutched his brother's shirt even tighter.

Dean gave a smirk that felt more like a wince. "Guess so. Look, as lovely as it is chatting, I gotta go. Rent's not gonna pay itself, after all," he said, being careful not to say "we." Ivan hadn't yet taken notice of Sam, and Dean wanted to keep it that way.

Without waiting for a response, Dean turned, making sure he stayed between the disgusting man and his little brother as they walked away and down the concrete steps. They could both feel Ivan's leering gaze as they left, but thankfully the man remained silent. It wasn't until they turned the corner out of sight that Dean's posture loosened up a bit, and he tugged Sam against his side as they walked down the sidewalk deeper into town.

"What an asshole," Dean muttered under his breath. Sam snickered at his brother's language. He wasn't allowed to say words like that, but it was funny when Dean said them. He wasn't sure why.

"Do you think he has cats?" Sam wondered idly, glancing around at their surroundings with casual interest. The streets already had quite a few people walking them. It was a big city, after all. Plenty of other people were going to work as well.

"What?" Dean asked, confused at the random question.

Sam glanced up to meet his brother's gaze. "Lonely people have cats, right?" He checked, his tone indicating he expected only the affirmative and nothing else.

Dean couldn't help the laugh that escaped due to the pure innocence that radiated from his little brother's words. "Yes, Sammy, I absolutely think he has cats," he chuckled, squeezing the kid's shoulder. Sam beamed since his assumption was correct, facing forward again with a tiny bit of skip in his step. Dean granted himself a moment to soak in the younger boy's joy. It was practically infectious, and quite honestly the only thing that kept Dean from falling into a pit of despair on a daily basis. He hadn't been a child since the night his mother burned, but he was grateful that Sam could still be just a kid.

Dean decided to pass the time with light-hearted conversation until they reached the shop. He let go of Sam only to reach for his hand, swinging it back and forth gently. "If you could have any superpower, what would it be?" He asked.

Sam's face lit up, then fell into a ponderous expression as he thought seriously about his answer. "Hm...I think—no, wait...yes! I've got it! I'd want to have visions of the future!" He replied excitedly. Dean raised an eyebrow. He'd expected something more along the lines of flying or being invisible. He should've known his introspective little brother would come up with something a bit stranger.

"Really? Why's that?" Dean pressed curiously.

"Because I could see the bad stuff before it happens and stop it!" Sam insisted. "I could plan ahead, and—and nothing could ever go wrong because I would know and I would change it. I'd be able to keep us safe." By the end of his explanation, Dean could sense Sam was thinking about their father, but he didn't mention it. John's death was on the implicit list of "things never to be talked about."

"I'd want super strength," Dean replied instead, keeping his tone light. "Destroy our enemies with a single hit!" He brought his free hand up in a punching motion, eliciting a giggle from his baby brother.

"That's what the guns are for, silly!" Sammy chided.

"My fists would never run out of ammo," Dean claimed playfully. At that statement, Sam pursed his lips in consideration.

"Huh, I guess that's true...But if you had super strength, you'd win all our sparring matches," he pouted.

"Sammy, I already win all our sparring matches," Dean teased, not even attempting to dodge the smack to the stomach he received in return.

Their banter continued until they came upon the familiar shop, simply named 'Joe's Downtown Mart.' Joe was Anne's husband who'd passed away a few years ago of a heart attack. He'd started up the business himself, despite Anne's protests that it was a waste of money and that he should keep his job as an accountant until he could officially retire. He eventually swayed her, insisting that he'd rather work in the heart of the city where he could interact with the people. Joe had always loved meeting new people more than anything. He'd only become an accountant because he'd had an affinity for math and he needed the money to help raise their three kids. After his death, Anne had taken over the store, never bothering to change the name. Dean could understand her actions. Sometimes it was hard to let go.

When Sammy started to squirm, Dean was forced back to the present. His brother pulled him forward, excited to see Anne. "Slow down, buddy," Dean cautioned, not wanting Sam to break free and run ahead. Call him paranoid, but he wasn't willing to let his brother out of arm's reach when they were outside in an unprotected area.

Sam huffed but fell back into step with Dean, and soon enough they were opening the door to the shop and stepping inside. The bell rang overhead announcing their arrival, and Dean let out an exaggerated shudder as a blast of warm air hit him in the face.

"Well if it isn't my two favorite boys in Philly!" Anne announced, appearing from the backroom with a genuine smile directed towards them.

Dean shook his head in amusement as Sam ran forward and practically barreled into the poor woman, wrapping her in a tight hug. She let out a slight grunt of surprise at the impact but returned the gesture, rubbing the boy's back in a manner that could only be described as motherly.

"Anne, you just saw us on Friday," Dean pointed out, taking off his jacket and putting it on the hook behind the counter.

Sam loosened his grip enough to lean his head back so he could make eye contact with her. "You missed us, though, right Anne?" He hedged with a dimpled grin.

She pinched Sam's nose fondly, like any old woman is prone to do. "Of course I did, munchkin. It's always too quiet around here without you boys," she answered. Dean was heartened that their presence improved her life in even a small way. It was nice to feel wanted. Anne was the only person left besides Sam that Dean trusted, at least partially. He'd been through too much to let his guard down completely, but he couldn't deny that he felt safe with her.

"Sammy, let's get you set up with your schoolwork," Dean called, glancing at the clock on the counter. Nearly time to open.

Sam brightened, always happy at the prospect of learning. Dean didn't understand the kid's perspective on school at all, but he supported it. Since Sammy wasn't actually able to attend school, Dean had collected a bunch of textbooks catered towards fifth graders from the public library and taken to teaching Sam himself. The kid would read while Dean worked, and then when they got back to their apartment they'd go through practice problems together. Dean knew it wasn't the greatest course of education, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Sam, for his part, never complained.

Sam went into the backroom to grab his book bag, which they kept in the store so they didn't have to lug the heavy textbooks back and forth every day. Before Dean could follow him in, Anne walked up and grabbed his elbow lightly, making sure not to startle the older boy. Unlike Sam, she knew Dean didn't like to be touched by anyone other than his brother. He actively avoided it, as though everyone he met was out to hurt him. It broke her heart, but she took solace in the fact that he'd warmed up to her, if only slightly.

He turned to face her, raising an eyebrow in question. When Anne frowned disapprovingly and brushed her knuckle over his right cheek, he winced in realization. He'd completely forgotten about the dark bruise his right eye now sported. It didn't even hurt, not unless he focused on it. He'd had much worse, so this injury was basically nothing in his opinion. Even Sammy, initially hovering with concern when Dean had returned Friday night with the new bruise, had gotten over the sight quickly. Like Dean, he was used to black eyes and broken ribs and deep lacerations, courtesy of being raised in the hunting life.

"Damn it, Dean," she grumbled with unveiled worry. "I thought you were done doing this crap," she admonished quietly, not wanting Sammy to overhear.

Dean shrugged, suddenly defensive—his go-to reaction whenever someone had a problem with his lifestyle.

"Rent's due this week. I needed the money," he retorted, dragging a rough hand through his hair and taking half a step back.

"You're gonna get yourself killed," she bit back, but immediately deflated as she cast a glance at Sam, who by now was flipping through his notebook in search of an empty page. "What about Sam, huh? If something happened to you, who'd take care of him?" She put a hand on her hip, but the intimidation tactic had little to no effect since Dean was half a foot taller than her.

"I'm doing this for Sam," Dean nearly growled.

"Dean," she sighed, but he held up a hand to cut her off.

"Don't, okay? This is really none of your business," he snapped, then briskly pushed past her to go to Sam, conversation over.

Anne observed the brothers silently from where she stood, wishing she could help them in some way. She'd offered in the past to let them stay with her, but Dean had instantly declined. She didn't know if it was because he didn't trust her enough, he didn't want anyone's help raising Sam, or he was simply too stubborn to accept assistance. Maybe all three. Either way, he was determined to make his own way in life. Anne would continue to do what she could, though: offer extra hours if the business was doing well, send them home with a homemade pie or casserole every now and then, or just be a friend. That, and pray that they'd be okay.

Anne knew one of the quickest ways to get on Dean's bad side was to question his care of his little brother, but she couldn't stand to see him hurt. She'd grown to think of the boys like grandchildren over the past few months, and it pained her to know the lengths Dean was willing to go when it came to earning money. Any of her attempts to talk him out of fighting were met with the same response as earlier. It wasn't her life, her family, so it wasn't her place to interfere.

Oh, Dean...I wish you would just let me in, she pleaded internally, watching as Dean laughed at some comment Sam made, ruffling the kid's hair and leaning over his shoulder with no regard for personal space, not that that concept existed between them anyway.

With a huff of tender resignation, she turned away to flip the sign from 'closed' to 'open.' Those boys might put her through the works, but they were certainly more worthy of a better, safer life than anyone she'd ever met. Hopefully someday soon they'd finally get the life they deserved. If not, at least they had each other.

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