Note: This chapter has a connection and can be considered almost an epilogue to my fic Familiar. You don't have to read one to understand the other, but there is a definite connection.

"What?" Sam croaked, his face ashen.

"You want me to stop playing with your big brother?"

The sick inquiry sounded rhetorical, but the bastard paused, clearly awaiting Sam's response.

The younger man nodded, eyes wide as he moved his head up and down so aggressively it was at risk of popping right off his neck.

"Use your words, Sammy." The bastard ordered, sliding a third finger into my boxers.

"Don't you fucking dare tell him what to do!" I snapped, hating the way our captor was speaking to my kid, despising the fact that he was using me to coerce the cooperation out of my little brother, and loathing that he was contaminating the version of Sam's name that was reserved solely for me to use.

Sam's terrified gaze slid over to my face for a short second, before returning to the pathetic-excuse-for-a-human being leering over me.

"Yes." The younger man rasped.

He sounded so goddamn scared.

It was destroying me.

"Yes, what?" The patronizing sonuvabitch queried, his sausage fingers inching threateningly lower beneath my waistband.

I grunted, trying and failing to mentally block-out the violation.

Panic flashed across my brother's expression.

"Yes, I want you to stop. Please."

He was begging.

Sam never begged, no Winchester did, but he was making an exception.

For me.

"I'm fine, Sam." I assured, instilling power into my voice, a power I did not feel in the least.

"What will you give me if I stop, Sammy?" The older man's voice overlaying my own.

Sam blinked, glancing at me and then moving back to the scumbag, his hazel eyes wild and desperate.

"Anything." He choked out, sounding equal parts bold and terrified.

"No, Sam!" I barked, both relieved and horrified when the invasive appendages were removed from beneath my clothing.

Sam sent me a mournfully sympathetic look, but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his stare. He didn't shift his gaze away from me until meaty fingers roughly gripped his chin and forced his head to the side.

"Don't fucking touch him!" I hollered, fighting against my restraints as I watched the older man lean into my little brother's space, his face mere inches from Sam's. I could practically smell the stale filthy breath I knew was being exhaled onto Sam. The second after my demand, the creep used the hand that wasn't trapping Sam's chin and slid it possessively down the younger man's thin chest, worming it into his jeans – all the while gazing spitefully over at me.

He wanted me to know that my threats were doing nothing but escalating his actions.

My jaw clicked as it snapped shut. I desired nothing more than to curse the bastard out, but the last thing I wanted was to make things worse for Sam. I ransacked my mind, searching for a solution, something – anything – I could do to save my kid.

Sam sucked in a strangled breath as the large hand crept lower beneath his pants.

I grit my teeth, body vibrating with rage as I was helpless to do anything but watch. The monster leaned in closer, his noggin still too far from Sam's to be head-butted, but far too close for comfort.

"I want a re-enactment."

I stared in revulsion as the gleeful declaration sent a violent shudder through Sam's long frame. The younger man's mouth opened and closed several times before any words found their way out.

"A re-enactment?" He questioned in hushed horror.

The sick smile spread impossibly wider across the man's fat face.

"Of that." He clarified, nodding at the television.

I glanced at the screen out of the corner of my eye, not daring to fully remove focus from my little brother. The black and white tape was still playing, but all that could be seen was a much younger version of myself holding a trembling, sobbing child in my arms. I had forgotten how long I had spent in that room working to calm the traumatized kid.

The shithead's unrelenting grip didn't allow Sam to turn his head enough to see the television, but he had no problem comprehending the older man's desires. His eyes grew impossibly wider and his body began to tremble, his jawing clenching viciously, probably in an attempt to prevent it from dropping open.

"There's no way in hell that is happening!" I decreed with a shout, feeling a fraction of satisfaction that the volume of my voice managed to startle the perverted asshat.

He looked over at me, a twisted grin on his face, dark eyes alight with excitement, as he used his unrelenting hold on Sam's chin to turn his head to the side before he started necking him.

He was fucking sucking on my kid brother's neck.

And it was my fucking fault, because I couldn't keep my goddamn mouth shut.

Sam squirmed helplessly, misery etched across his grey complexion.

He couldn't move his head, that much was clear, but his eyes roamed frantically around the room. It didn't take more than a second for those bright hazel orbs to find me. I was relieved when our eyes met and tried to offer comfort, but as the sonuvabitch dragged his tongue up the length of my brother's neck, Sam's eyes quickly fell away, his faced colouring in the shade I knew to be shame.

"Sammy." I called, soft but firm.

The hazel gaze was hesitant, but eventually floated up from the floor to timidly connect with mine.

"It's not your fault. You're okay. I'm right here." I vowed.

Sam's eyes filled, his head twitching as he attempted what I assumed was a nod, which quickly transformed to a cringe as the bastard who had been sucking on him began trailing kisses up the younger man's long neck.

I was unable to with hold an animalistic growl as I watched the jagoff force his lips onto Sam's. The smothered whimper my little brother released had my mind screaming as I boiled from the inside-out.

I wanted to lose it.

I wanted to shout and curse, but I didn't want to make anything worse. Every time I had spoken-out, it had only escalated things and I couldn't stand for that to happen again.

So, I sat there uselessly and watched.

I forbid myself from turning away or closing my eyes. regardless of how badly I wanted to. I refused to allow myself that luxury. Sam was suffering and I wouldn't abandon him, not even for a minute.

It took way too damn long, but eventually the abusive asshole detached his mouth from Sam's. Unfortunately, it took less than a second before his mouth reattached to Sam's neck and his hands never stopped wandering all over Sam's chest and down beneath his jeans. My little brother looked everywhere but the man in front of him and me, he seemed desperate for something else to focus on, so much so that he even turned his gaze to the television. I glanced over long enough to see that nothing was happening on the screen, the room seeming empty, but the chair placed in front of the bathroom door told me that the pedophile was still trapped inside. Sam stared blankly at the TV trying and failing to contort away from the mouth aggressively sucking on his neck.

It took a moment, but the fucker noticed that his muse was distracted and removed his lips from Sam's skin long enough to glance over at the television.

"Don't bother with it, baby-boy, the good part is long over." He cooed, his thick pudgy fingers nudging the younger man's head back towards him, only to have the shaggy noggin turn away again. The older man sighed in frustration, as though it was so unfair that his victim wasn't willing to cater to his sick and twisted fantasies. "Well I suppose it would be a shame for you to miss the action sequence." He relented with a grumble.

I glared daggers at the sonuvabitch as he moved around to stand behind Sam's chair, draping himself over my little brother as he observed the black-and-white recording. His chin dropped on my brother's left shoulder, nuzzling in to the long neck until his face was resting against Sam's. The creep's arms were dangling over the broad shoulders as his pudgy fingers ran up and down and all over my kid's chest and abdomen.

Sam's expression remained blank as he stared at the screen. I knew he was doing the best he could to detach, to shut down and remove himself emotionally from the situation. He was doing all he could to stop the pain.

It worked for awhile, until I watched Sam's eyebrows twitch up, prompting me to glance at the screen he was zoned out on.

The image was black and white and grainy as shit, but none of that prevented me from spotting John Winchester marching with predatory grace that could only be seen as lethal, towards the blocked bathroom door.

A low threatening rumble I knew to be our father's voice, drifted through the speakers, followed shortly by screaming. Screaming that went on for what felt like a hours.

I couldn't see what was happening, but the noises sounding from the television didn't make it too difficult to imagine. I always knew that our dad gave that piece-of-shit-pedophile a death as slow and torturous as possible - a death almost as painful as that scumbag deserved - but hearing it play-out made it all the more real. I looked back at Sam, watching him swallow thickly as his wide eyes stared in shock at the screen.

We both knew full-well about John Winchester's dark side and – despite our father's efforts to protect us from that piece of himself – we had both been witness to it on numerous occasions, but hearing it play out over the television was a stark reminder of the brutal violence our dad was capable of. The screams of death created a crescendo of sound, causing Sam to flinch, before everything suddenly went silent.

"That daddy of yours is quite the killer." The scumbag observed.

I snorted, shaking my head, because the fucker had no idea.

"I'm sure that's not news to you two." He added, glancing over in my direction.

"That sick-fuck deserved to die more than anything else our dad has ever killed." I growled.

The bastard's eyebrows lifted in surprise for a moment before he finally stood up straight and got the hell off my little brother.

"Yes, well, as true as that may be this particular death caused me a great deal of inconvenience. Not only was my operation very nearly discovered, but the motel was shut down for weeks and it took me five times as long to hunt down a replacement employee."

There were too many disturbing indications in that statement for me to park on just one, but Sam spoke up before I had to decide which matter to take issue with first.

"What operation?" He inquired, his dread-filled tone making it clear that he was just as wary as I was about the truth we were soon to uncover.

"Oh come now, Sammy-boy. You can't honestly believe you were my only muse."

I balled my fists as I watched my little brother shiver at the comment.

"Look around you, sweet-thing. There's shelves full of videotapes, all with little boys – even some little girls – starring in their own movies. And though I have not viewed any one of them as often as I've watched yours, they all bring me pleasure in their own little ways."

"You fucking piece of trash." I seethed, enraged by the devastated expression on my little brother's face and the horrifying thought of how many other children were victimized and eviscerated by this scumbag.

The predatory grin turned my way as the large man began moving in my direction.

"How?" Sam croaked, distracting the douchebag from his approach and causing him to pause in the small space between Sam's chair and mine.

"It was quite genius."

I rolled my eyes, less than thrilled we were now going to have to sit through some fucked-up origin story about this monster and his pedo organization. However, I remained silent because anything that kept this fucktard distracted and away from my kid was fine, even if I knew his words were going to haunt me for years.

"You see, boys, it's all about finding the right people and having the means to keep them motivated and silent. Hell, I could still have the operation running today if I had the cash flow to support it." He began, taking a few steps back to lean his enormous frame against his large wooden desk. "I was a very successful business man, and while that did little to appease my sexual appetite, it allowed me to take an early retirement and finance the pursuit of my true passion."

My stomach rolled at the abhorrent way he described his perversion.

"I had to build a network, took me a few years to find the right connections, but I did it. Some were timid and required a little encouragement, but after just a few short years I had nearly fifty employees. They were spread all over the country. None of them demanded a regular salary – they were benefitting greatly from the operation after all – but I did have to pay to relocate several of them. Because the other part, you see, is finding the right kids. The ones who can be used."

I swallowed back bile, the last statement repulsing me to my very soul. Children were to be cared for and protected and fucking treasured, not used. I hadn't thought I could hate the fucker anymore, but I did, I loathed him more with each filthy word that fell from his mouth.

"You need access to the children who are unnoticed. The ones who have been forgotten. The ones no one comes looking for. The ones who are alone. Those are the kids who make the easiest little toys."

"Fuck you." It was nearly a whisper, but that didn't make it sound any less lethal or horrified. I looked at Sam, who was glaring with more hate than I had ever seen him exude- more ire than I knew my little brother to be capable of - at the man standing across from us.

"Don't worry, Sammy, there will be fucking, but not until after story time."

And just like that, this shithead introduced me to a new level of fury. I was shaking with the need to tear him apart, and yet I could do nothing but sit and be subjected to even more egregious shit.

"Now those type of children are more easily found in certain environments. Therefore, most of my employees reside in financially challenged neighborhoods. The ones with the single mother who works day and night or the alcoholic father who can't keep a job, places where kids are left alone to fend for themselves hours on end, or where they go unnoticed by intoxicated adults – or perhaps where they sit alone at a booth while their brother works in the back of the diner." He added, grinning in my direction.

I clenched my jaw, my gaze falling to the floor, as I felt the guilt gnaw at me the way it had been for years. I knew it was my fucking fault. I had always known, but somehow his words made that knife drive in impossibly deeper.

"Don't you fucking dare look at him like that! It wasn't his fault." Sam shouted, I couldn't bring myself to look at him, but he sounded absolutely vicious.

"Why of course not. You had caught our eye well before we discovered that your brother worked long hours. The moment your Daddy checked in at the hotel, my employee had his sights set on you. And who wouldn't have with that precious little face you had."

That got my eyes up off the floor fairly quickly. "Shut the hell up." I cursed, fucking sick of hearing this scumbag talk about my little brother like he was a goddamn piece of meat.

"I have a number of employees stationed at motels, only the cheap ones in the less desirable areas of various towns. There is great potential at those rat-infested shacks. Those particular locations tend to be frequented by addicts, prostitutes who – if I'm lucky – leave a kid or two behind while they go about their business. There are parents on the run from the law or ones who can't find a more permanent place to stay for one reason or another. And then sometimes, there's even little boys who are left behind by father's who go off on business trips." He finished with a leering smile.

"You sick bastard." Sam growled. The large man pushed himself off his desk and made his way over to my brother, the wide grin never faltering as he walked across the space.

"How did you never get caught?" I questioned, less out of actual curiosity, and more in an effort to distract the asshole from getting any closer to my kid. Because distraction was the only weapon I currently possessed in my repertoire. And wasn't that just a goddamn nightmare?! Fortunately, it actually worked, which wasn't so surprising once one considered how much this prick seemed to enjoy talking about himself and his sick operation.

He paused angling himself back towards me.

"A few of my employees got sloppy and were left to deal with the consequences at the hands of the law, but if they went about it properly – the way I instructed them to – they got away with it pretty easily." He seemed to enjoy my feigned interest and proceeded to elaborate. "The motels were the trickiest, less time for my employees to cozy up to the kids. Often there is time needed to groom the child and form a bond, only then can they gain their trust and use them at will while convincing them to stay quiet. It is often tedious work that takes a great deal too much time, my most successful employees were individuals who worked with the youngsters, teaches and coaches and the such. The ones stationed in more temporary situations, such as the motels, had to go about things a little differently. The owners of the little hole-in-the-wall joints obviously had to be added to the payroll, that was the only way to keep them out of the particular room and get the camera's hooked up. Some required a steady cash payment, others simply requested to view the content and would often allow my employee to stay in one of their rooms for free so they had the benefit of enjoying all the special features. Those ones were the best and the individuals I could depend on to wipe the room before the cops arrived - in the event that an operation goes south; as was required when your Daddy made such a mess with one of my most talented hires." He stated with a wink. "Besides appeasing the owner, there was a matter of keeping the kid quiet. Getting them alone was always easy enough, the child was only selected if they were left by themselves for substantial periods of time. The parents were usually inattentive in one way of another and would likely not notice any altered behaviour in their kid – which often occurs after they are … enjoyed."

I cursed and Sam shivered at the adjective that was so gleefully shared.

"When there is no time to groom and no trust is built, the key to keeping the sweet-sexy-little things from blabbing, is shame. Shame works incredibly well – for the proper age, of course. They have to be old enough to know that something sexual has occurred. They have to be old enough to understand what has happened and feel guilty for taking part in it. They have to be old enough to feel violated. And yet young enough to still be attractive to me. It's a fine line. But Sammy walked it well, didn't you, boy?"

"I'm going to rip you apart, you sonuvabitch." I vowed unable to control the rage that was consuming every goddamn fiber of my being, it simmered impossibly higher the moment I spotted the tormented expression on my brother's face.

"Yes, Sammy was the perfect candidate." The shithead cooed, ignoring my outburst completely, as he moved towards Sam, resting his pudgy hands far too high up on the younger man's long legs. "The proper age, absentee father, shy disposition, and cute as hell of course." He added, caressing my kid's jaw with his fat fingers before standing to full height and turning to me.

I leveled him with a look of pure hatred and disgust as he sauntered over to my chair.

"The only hitch in the operation was you, Dean." He spat my name like it was a bad taste he couldn't get out of his mouth and stopped to stand in front of me. "We thought you would be like every other teenager, self-obsessed and disinterested. We realized to our disappointment that was not the case when my employer noticed you were always around my kid."

"He's my fucking kid, you piece of shit!" I shouted, not caring that I sounded exactly like the possessive mother bear that Sam always accused me of being; because Sam was mine. He was mine to take care of, mine to teach, mine to protect, and mine to love. He was my little brother and my kid and this fucker had no claim to him. None, whatso-fucking-ever.

The bastard had one thick eyebrow raised and was staring down at me in amusement. I glanced to my right to see Sam quirking a small smile, that barely shone through the despair etched across his face.

"Be that as it may, he was my muse, still is." The asshole proclaimed with a twisted grin, leaning down into my space, his hand grabbing my chin and forcing eye contact. "And you made it incredibly difficult to access him."

"I guess you should have taken the hint and stayed the hell away from him." I growled, before trying and failing to pull my chin from his rough grip.

"It was considered." He stated, his nasty breath hot on my face, my chin squeezed harshly before he released it and straightened out. "Once my employee discovered you took little Sammy to work with you, we spoke of abandoning the plan, but neither of us were keen on it. He was more than a little excited to get his hands on such a sweet little boy, and after hearing his original description of that babyface and skinny frame I was quite eager as well. We got greedy, and that was our mistake and his ultimate downfall. It was a pity, he was one of my best employees and had the finest taste of them all." He smiled with a wink at Sam, who ducked his head, his hair falling before his face. The simple gesture somehow managed to encourage the fucktard and had him moving back over to the other chair.

"Why now?" I asked, doing my best to keep the bastard's focus away from my kid. He stopped next to Sam's chair and turned towards me, his hand on my brother's head as he toyed with the shaggy hair. Sam tried to duck his head away, but the sausage fingers followed him. My stomach twisted as I watched Sam helplessly shutter, twitching away but unable to escape, his eyes downcast and expression pained.

"Well, Sammy has been on my bucket list for some time, now. I just couldn't get the sexy little thing out of my mind. I tried to get at him for years, got close a few times."

Sam's eyes widened at the comment, mine must have done the same because the scumbag appeared to register my surprise.

"It took me quite awhile to acquire the taping of Sam's first sexual encounter – the technology wasn't advanced as it is these days, there was no live-streaming option available to me, just old school camcorders with tapes that had to be snail-mailed or dropped off. It took a lot of time and a great deal of patience, but it was always worth it, especially in Sam's case." He cooed, smiling down at the younger man who had not relented in his efforts to duck away from the thick appendages weaving their way through his brown locks. "Once I was finally able to view the encounter that had resulted in the gruesome demise of one of my finest employees, I knew why he had been willing to take the risk of getting caught for the pleasure of being with such a perfect little boy."

"Please don't." Sam whispered hoarsely.

The plea did nothing but widen the sick smile on the asshole's face as he dragged Sam's head over into his side.

"I sent an elaborate description out through my network, I showed the video to those I could, but most of my employees were left to work off a mere verbal depiction of Sammy's many fine features, they didn't even have a name to keep an eye out for because ya'll kept changing it all the damn time. The two of you traveled a great deal across the country, but luckily you frequented a number of motels I had access to – for awhile anyways."

Sam flinched at the revealing statement, I shuttered. My mind flashing back to all the times I had noticed someone watching my kid too closely, every time some dude at some sleeze-bag motel showed interest in my little brother; they all could have been searching for Sammy – plotting how to get at him. Sam had been in so much fucking danger and I'd had no goddamn idea.

"Some of them got close. Real close." The pervert added, gripping a handful of Sam's hair to force his head back over after he tried to duck away.

"Sam." I tried to catch my little brother's eyes, to tell him everything was going to be okay, that I'd find a way to get us out of this, but his hazel gaze remained on the floor.

"But there was always one stupid stubborn thing in the way. You, Dean." The scumbag elaborated, staring over at me, a grin on his face but anger in his glare.

I smirked, because standing between Sam and monsters was my job and I put everything I had into it.

"When one of my local employees spotted my muse so nearby, I nearly lost my mind with excitement. I busted up my truck just so I could take it over to the scrapyard where I was told a boy who looked very much like my Sammy was staying. I hadn't been certain if it was my boy, because the man had been relatively vague with his description, only spotting you from a distance. The old man who lives there wouldn't even give up any names, only stating that his nephews were staying with him."

I clenched my jaw at the thought of Bobby, I didn't know if he was dead or alive, all because of the trouble we had brought to his door. I had no doubt that one day Bobby Singer would regret the day he ever associated himself with the Winchesters, if he didn't already.

"I recognized you the moment I spotted you on that rotting front porch, even though years had past, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get close, because you were there, Dean, fucking everything up as usual."

I rolled my eyes, I didn't know why he kept bitching about me getting in the way. Did this asshole really think I'd make it easy for him to victimize my kid? I grimaced as I realized that of course he fucking thought that, that's what I had done the first time, wasn't it?!

"But then you left." The bastard recalled with a grin.

I flinched away, like I'd been slapped. I had left. John had issued an order and I had followed like the obedient soldier that I was. I had left Sammy, even though my big brother instincts had screamed at me not to – which at the time I thought was because the youngest Winchester was injured and hurting and I knew he wouldn't be honest with Bobby and let our surrogate uncle take care of him, but I know realize that perhaps my gut had been trying to tell me something else. Maybe I had known on some level that my little brother was in danger, and even if that was not the case, I had known that leaving was not what was best for my kid, but I had done it anyways, because I was following orders like some brainless robot. I clenched my jaw, turning some of my overwhelming furry on to myself, because I had left. Sam had needed me, I was the one who was supposed to look out for him, the one who was supposed to do what was best for him always and protect him, but I had walked away, fucking abandoned him for a hunt.

I suppose I was a lot more like John Winchester than I had ever imagined.

"Dean." Sam's soft voice penetrated the storm of self-recrimination raging in my mind. I hadn't realized my gaze had dropped until I had to look up to spot my brother. Sam's focus was on me, even as the pervert's fingers proceeded to mess with the shaggy mess of hair. "Don't." He said, his tone stern as his hazel eyes read me like a damn book.

"I was ecstatic when I returned to pick up my truck in the morning and saw little Sammy sitting alone on the porch, you and your stupid car nowhere to be seen. I could barely contain myself when I finally got to speak with the beautiful boy I had spent four long years pining for. Unfortunately, our conversation was cut short thanks to that uncle of yours. I asked him where that classic vehicle had gone and was told that it was across the state and wouldn't be back for sometime, I commented that I thought the car had forgotten someone and the old man let it slip that the younger boy would be staying with him for awhile. I did all I could to contain my joy, you were gone and I finally had access to Sam."

My gaze returned to the floor, no longer able to maintain contact with my brother's, the despair of letting him down so many times becoming too much for me to handle.

"Dean." Sam called again, only to be drowned out by our captor.

"I would have snatched him up right there, if that pesky mechanic hadn't been so bloody attentive. I knew that I would have to return that night to collect my prize."

"Don't fucking call him that." I spouted, my shame forgotten as I glared up at the scumbag. Sam wasn't a prize or a fucking possession. He was a brilliant man, a compassionate son, a loyal little brother, goddamn a hero and the best frickin human being that I had ever known.

The creep rolled his eyes, but paid no further mind to my demand.

"I knew the old man would be an issue, but I figured he'd be easy enough to deal with, being on crutches and all, and of course I knew Sam would fight me, he had put up quite the battle when he was younger, but I knew with his injury that I would be able to subdue him. I had the whole plan in place, I even had my bedroom all set up and ready for when I brought him home." He added, winking in time with Sam's full-body shiver.

"Shut the fuck up, you twisted son of a bitch." I seethed. The creep simply grinning as he possessively gripped Sam's hair, preventing the kid from inching away like he'd tried to. Sam shifted helplessly, struggling fruitlessly to create any amount of distance between himself and the monster at his side.

"I waited until dark to return, it wasn't all that late, but I couldn't stand to wait much longer. You can imagine my disappointment when I spotted that damn black vehicle parked in front of the porch. I went home in anguish and I couldn't handle it, and while I encouraged my employees to proceed with the pursuit, I chose to no longer waste my own time on it. It was far to devastating to have my hopes soar only to come crashing down again."

"Boo-fucking-hoo." I mocked, sick of this asshole acting like he had a sob-story.

I must have hit a nerve, because a dangerous glare came my way and the bastard advanced in my direction, finally removing his nasty fingers from my brother's hair.

The speed and the power of the punch took me by surprise. My head snapped back to the right, my left cheekbone throbbing as I straightened my neck and stared up at the infuriated man looming over me.

"Leave him alone!" Sam hollered, fighting his restraints. I shook my head at him, trying to keep him from getting involved. I was fine to take a beating if it kept the monster away from my little brother.

"You shouldn't mock other people's pain, Mr. Winchester." The asshole fumed, thankfully ignoring Sam's outburst.

"That's rich coming from you, jagoff." I glowered. The asshat had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at me, as though he hadn't the slightest idea what I was speaking of. "All these kids," I started, nodding towards one of the numerous bookcases full of tapes, "All these children you used, you destroyed their lives, you destroyed their families lives – and for what? For your own fucking pleasure! You sick, piece of shit." I spat, my rage bubbling to the surface as I glowered up at the scumbag standing before me.

"That's where you're wrong, boy. I don't destroy them, I open up a world of pleasure and introduce them to the beauty of sexual exploration, I should be thanked for all—

"Shut the fuck up! You're nothing more than a piece of human garbage who victimizes defenseless children, you spineless sonuvabitch!" I shouted, my body trembling in revulsion at the mere idea that this fucker thought for even one second that he was anything more than a predator of the most egregious degree, that he wasn't the lowest form of scum to ever walk the earth.

He opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue against the accusation, but Sam's voice filled the space first.

"What changed?"

The question was loud enough to attract the attention of the room, which had obviously been the intention. The old man took the bait, some of his aggression fading as he angled over to Sam.

"A lot has changed, my boy." He answered vaguely, clearly unsure of what specifically Sam was inquiring.

"You said you gave up on looking for me yourself. You and your … employees … never got to me again because Dean was always there. But Dean was there, at the house and you still came for me. So, what changed?"

The bastard nodded his head, now understanding the question, I tensed as the scumbag made his way back toward my brother, leaning down in front of him – way too damn close.

"You see, sweetheart, I'm dying."

"Good." I spat.

He didn't even bother to turn in my direction, his focus solely on my kid.

"A tumor, in my brain. I'm afraid I only have a few months left at most." He stated, dragging his filthy hand down the side of Sam's face. "No need to fret my darling, I've lived long enough, I don't have many regrets – but I knew that I couldn't possibly leave this earth without having you, first."

Sam recoiled at the statement, as I clenched my fists, my body vibrating with the need to attack, everything in me – each molecule of my being - repulsed by the victimization of my kid brother.

"Even though you're older now, and no longer my type, you still look so much like that little boy I fell in love with all those years ago."

Right when I was about to tell that pervert just what he could do with himself, Sam headbutted the fucktard in the face and sent him sprawling backwards. The asshole had intentionally been keeping far enough to avoid such contact, but had made the mistake during his response of moving in too closely. Sam had taken advantage of the momentary blunder and slammed his forehead hard into the bastard's nose.

"Goddamnit." The injured man cursed, trying to stem the blood pouring from his had-to-be-busted nose, as he staggered to his feet. "You little shit." He growled, advancing on Sam, grabbing a fistful of his brown locks and ripping his head mercilessly to the back, the angle looking immensely painful.

"Get your hands off of him!" I shouted, my chair creaking as I fought against my restraints.

The shrill ring of a phone sounded through the house, and thankfully provided a distraction.

"Saved by the bell." Our captor grimaced, yanking Sam's hair once again for good measure before releasing it and making his way out of the room, one hand still covering his nose.

"You okay, Sammy?" I asked, knowing the question was pointless, because of course he wasn't.

"M'fine. You?" He asked, his voice soft, but his gaze intense as it roamed over me.

"I'm good." I declared.

Sam appeared as though he believed my self-assessment about as much as I did his.

We sat in silence for a moment, hearing the distant murmur of a voice in the background, I racked my brain to think of an escape, but knew that there was no action I could take until I managed to somehow get out of the damn chair.

"Dean." The call was timid, but still snagged my attention – as my little brother's voice always did.

I focussed on Sam, cringing at the damaged state my kid was in, but what caught my attention was not his thin, bruised torso, or his messed-up mane, or even the red marks on his face and neck – it was the pleading look in his eyes.

"What is it, Sammy?" I wondered softly.

"Whatever happens, whatever he does, whatever he makes me do…just please, please don't look."

"What?" I rasped, my mouth dry as I tried to digest the words that had just been spoken.

Sam cleared his throat, trying and failing to readjust his position. I winced, knowing the bruises on his back caused by that damn shape shifter were probably killing him.

"I don't know what's going to happen. But he wants…he wants a re-enactment." He was barely able to get the words out without heaving.

"Sam—

"I don't know what is going to happen, but whatever it is, please don't watch." Sam nearly begged, his hazel eyes shining as they stared right into me.

"Sam, nothing is going to happen, I won't let it."

My little brother' gave me a sad look, sorrow evident on his face, telling me that as much as he wished he could believe me – he was no longer a child and knew by now that I couldn't protect him from everything, no matter how hard I tried.

"You don't have to go along with anything. He can't force you into some fucked-up pervy roleplay." I declared, only to watch Sam's face adopt a helpless expression.

"As long as he has you, he can get me to do anything he wants, and he knows it." My brother confessed.

The air was stolen from my lungs as I struggled to breathe through the realization that had just struck me like a thousand volts of electricity. There was no way Sam would go through this for me. No way he would play some sick game to keep me safe. No way he would put himself through that kind of trauma just to keep me safe.

There was no way.

Except that there was every way.

Because he had done it before.

The memory plowing into me like a truck, as I sat helplessly glued to that goddamn chair.

Sam looked miserable.

He had glanced at his watch at least nine damn times in the past thirty minutes. He had to be the only sixteen-year-old on the planet who didn't seem to give a fuck that he was in a bar – one that was sleezy enough to not even bother checking the boy's fake ID, which was probably good because it didn't matter how you doctored the date on that thing, the kid still looked like he was twelve freakin years old.

I shook my head, before taking my turn at the pool table, pocketing a couple more balls as I decided this would be my last game tonight. Sure, we could always use more cash, but Sam was tired and hurting and he'd had a shitty week at his new school and he was fucking exhausted, and it was just time to get the kid home to bed. Well, home wasn't the perfect word, but back to the hotel.

While my latest mark took his shot, playing under the illusion that he was still in the game, I glanced up again at the teenager sitting in the darkest corner of the smoky room. Normally, an untouched beer would be sitting in front of the shaggy-headed teen, but not tonight because alcohol didn't mix well with the pain meds Sam was still on. The kid had been t-boned by a goddamn truck over a month ago. We had stayed in a nice place while he'd healed up, spending every dollar we possessed in the process, but I didn't care. My kid had his fucking chest cut open to repair his ribs, he had nearly died, I would have sold everything I owned – every drop of my blood – for my brother's recovery. Sam, on the other hand, well the teenager hadn't quit fretting about money, blaming himself for being hit by a piece of shit drunk driver, which did some real damage to the Impala and put Sam in the hospital for too damn long.

The youngest Winchester had always been far to quick to carry any slice of guilt he could get his hands on, which drove me fucking mental. He wanted to get a job, but hadn't even been able to stand to his full-short height without flinching until just last week. We had only arrived in Indiana to meet our father two weeks ago, once I had finally deemed Sam well enough to travel. John had been around for barely a week before taking off on another hunt, he said he'd be back in a couple weeks – neither Sam or I were holding our breaths on that promise. The teenager had just been enrolled in school on Monday after six solid days of nagging me. His ribs were healed up well enough, but I knew his busted shoulder was still giving him some trouble, which was why I had stone-walled all his attempts to pursue employment.

It didn't matter to me how guilty Sam was feeling or how much our funds were dwindling – or the list of repairs I still couldn't afford to fix on the Impala – my little brother's well-being came first.

It always would.

Which was why, when I finished kicking ass at my twelfth game of pool I took my winnings, ignored the angry growls, and made a beeline for the teen stooped in the corner booth.

I arrived just as an older lady was leaving, I had seen her approach Sam from the corner of my eye during my last shot – no task important enough to compete with my kid for my full attention – I had let it happen because she looked disarming enough. I figured she'd flirt with the kid, maybe give me something to tease him about later, and then walk away when he oh-so-sweetly turned her down. I realized as I stepped up to the corner booth and spotted the disturbed grimace on Sam's face, that there would be no mocking my brother about this later, and perhaps that tipsy-middle-aged woman hadn't been as harmless as I'd originally thought.

"You ready to go?" I asked, knowing the answer as I slipped into my jacket. After all, Sammy had only come along to have my back in case there was any trouble – the only reason the kid even asked for a fake ID, because god forbid he just want to have some fun every once and awhile – sometimes he'd play a game or two of pool, but that wasn't the case this time with his left arm in a sling.

Sam twitched, his face pinched with what was obvious discomfort and maybe a little something else, but I found it difficult to read him in this dim environment with his bangs hanging in front of his face, I'd take another look in some better light.

"You can play a couple more games if you want. Looks like another round of poker is starting up over there." The teenager announced, barely bothering to raise his gaze as he nodded over to the crowded table at the other end of the room.

"Nah, I'm good. Let's go." I dismissed, heading towards the door before Sam mentioned our finances and assured me how fine he would be if we stayed longer, even though it was nearly two in the morning and the kid was clearly beat.

I kept my pace slow, until I heard Sam's tired shuffle fall in step behind me, following me through the parking lot - we were halfway to the car when I sensed my brother had stopped.

"What's up, dude?" I asked, spinning around, watching the teenager grind his shoe into the cracked gravel, his slim frame stooped, his chin nearly touching his chest.

"Um, I think I'm going to stay, for a bit longer." He mumbled to the ground.

"What? Why? Dude, you were counting down the minutes until we could blow that joint." I replied, not understanding my little brother's hesitation.

"It's nothing, I just. I have something I've gotta do. I'll meet you back at the hotel." He stated, turning back towards the bar, as though that was it, like I wouldn't have any further questions.

"Hey, hold up." I ordered, grabbing his right arm and stepping in front of him. "What's the deal? You weren't finished sitting around and staring at your watch, or what?"

Sam shook his head, not bothering to pull away from me, but refusing to lift his eyes off the tarmac. Whenever the kid was trying to hide something from me, be it an emotion or a bruise, he always did everything he could to avoid making eye contact. He knew those hazel eyes of his couldn't hide shit, which was the same thing the little brat had always said about my eyes.

"I just need to do something. It's not like you've never hung around inside a bar for half the night."

He was getting defensive, more evidence he was trying to hide something.

"You can do whatever the hell you want, Sam, but at least tell me what you think is in that building for you."

Sam scuffed his shoes a few more times before shrugging evasively.

This kid was like a goddamn Rubik's cube.

"Fine, let's go back in and you can do whatever the hell you need to do." I relented, moving back towards the bar, preparing to see what dumb-shit Sam thought he was going to get into. I wasn't about to let the kid try his hand – his one operational hand – at pool or watch him try and keep his shadowed eyes open at the poker table, but I would have to wait until we got back inside to refute any of my little brother's stupid intentions.

"Dean, wait."

I paused as thin fingers wrapped around my forearm and tugged me backwards.

"This is something I have to do on my own." He confessed, his eyes finally leaving the ground, only to meet my kneecaps.

"That's bullshit. You wouldn't let me come alone tonight, even though I told your ass to stay home and get some rest. I'm not leaving you in that sketchfest alone."

Sam was shaking his head before I had even finished speaking.

"This is private." He insisted, his gaze nearly reaching my hips, as I felt the fingers he was still holding me with clench nervously.

"Sam, there's no such thing as private between us. We practically live in each other's back pockets. Privacy isn't a factor here." I declared, irritated that I was having to state facts I considered to be beyond obvious.

"There is, sometimes." Sam countered, his tone sounding as though he was alluding to something.

I frowned, trying to think of the last time I had pulled the privacy card.

"Unless you're going to take a dump, there ain't nothing in there that you have to do alone."

"Not alone, just without you." The teen muttered.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Once Sam had finished counting every brick on the wall behind me, he answered my frustrated inquiry.

"There's a woman."

I waited for him to proceed with his explanation, but it never happened.

"Yeah? The one who was talking to you?"

A nod was my only reply.

"What did she want?" I inquired through a sigh of irritation, getting to the bottom of Sam's odd behaviour was more exhausting than digging up six feet of wet dirt – something I extensive great experience doing.

The teenager cleared his throat releasing my arm so that he could use his right hand to pick at his sling. I swatted his fingers away, the fabric holding his broken limb in place was already damaged from all the threads Sam had pulled out of it.

"Me." He whispered.

"You?"

He nodded.

It took a few seconds before the realization hit me, but when it did, I had a difficult time coming to terms with it.

"You are seriously going back in there to hookup with some old lady?" I questioned incredulously, because there was no way that was what was happening, I had to be mistaken.

The lack of a reaction from Sam was more than enough confirmation.

"Dude, you don't even know her and she's like forty! You can't honestly tell me that you're into that." I exclaimed, knowing that my brother had a few crushes in his past and not one of them had been a middle-aged, make-up drenched, drunk.

"I'm not, but it's no about that." He admitted, at least showing an ounce of sanity I knew the kid possessed.

"Then what's it about?" I prodded, stepping closer, trying and failing to catch the younger man's eyes.

"She offered to pay me." The confession was so soft I almost missed it.

My mouth opened and closed three times before any words managed to make it out.

"What the fuck did that bitch say to you?" I growled.

One shrug, three shuffles, and five fidgets later, a quiet response floated across the night air.

"She offered to pay me…for an hour." Sam explained, his pause indicating that he was editing the last bit for my ears, likely in an effort to make it sound less horrific – which it did not.

I realized now why Sam had looked so damn small when I'd approached him at the end of my game, why he had refused to meet my eyes since that perv had spoken to him.

"I'm going to rip that bitch's fucking hair out." I seethed, spinning around, ready to march in there and tear into that creep.

"Dean, stop." The order, stern as it was, didn't slow me, but the insistent tug on my arm turned me back around.

"I don't care that she's a fucking female, she still deserves to have her goddamn lungs ripped out." I hollered, fuming inside and out, my body wound and ready to fight.

"Dude, cut it out. It's not that big of a deal." Sam insisted, sounding far from convincing, but his grip above my elbow was unrelenting.

"Yeah, Sam, it's a huge fucking deal. I can't—

"It's just sex." The teenager shouted, his eyes finally meeting mine, but only for a second – which was long enough for me to see the pain shining through the hazel orbs.

"It's not just sex." I argued.

Sam gave me a disbelieving look.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head, before beginning a more convincing argument.

"It is just sex for some people. But not for everyone. There's lots of people who think it's something special and they choose to do it with someone they care about. The first time someone … goes all the way, they usually want it to be with a person they have a connection with, someone who means something to them, or at least someone they are attracted to. For some people sex is a real connection and for some it's a commitment. It means something for a lot of people, it's not just a physical thing, it's emotional and spiritual. And whatever it is for you is fine, but you've got to think about it and respect what it is for you and what it is for other people."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, the absence of a counter point had me thinking that I at least had the teen's attention, but I couldn't tell if I was getting through to him because he was hidden behind all that damn hair. I swore that I would take the clippers to him as soon as we were back safe and sound in our rented room.

"Before I am ever with a woman I make sure that we are both on the same page. I don't hookup with anyone who wants more, anyone who wants a commitment, even if they say they don't but I can tell that they are hoping for more, more than I can give. I don't make promises to get anyone in bed, I would never use someone like that, disrespect them that way. That's douchebag shit."

"I know, Dean."

The soft assurance allowed me to finally take a breath and quiet the part of me that had been blaming my own behaviour for causing this turmoil.

"And no matter what you decide sex means to you, however you want to go about it, know that only predatory pieces of shit pay to use a human being like some disposable piece of meat. Don't ever be with some scumbag who is willing to take advantage of you or anyone else that way." I implored, sighing in relief at the sight of Sam's nod.

I still couldn't catch his eyes, but at least the struggling teenager was no longer fighting me, and – in turn – scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.

"Why would you even consider going through with that? You obviously aren't into her, so are you just curious or—

"No." Sam answered, immediately, not so much as a second of thought required.

"Then what?" I prodded, nervous to hear the truth as I watched Sam shrink away.

"I was going to do it for the money." He croaked, cringing away, as though he were physically preparing for my reaction.

"The money? You nearly sold yourself to some fucking perv for cash?" I exploded.

Sam exhaled loud and long, as though I was the one being unreasonable, like I was the one who nearly traded my virginity to some filthy pedo for a couple extra bucks.

"We need the money. The hospital stay and that fancy hotel wiped us out." Sam contended.

"I've got some cash flow coming in and we've got the hotel paid up for the next couple weeks. Sure, we haven't been eating the greatest, but I didn't think it was that bad." I defended, my voice fading at the end, wondering if maybe I hadn't been providing enough. We were back to the basics in the food department but we weren't going hungry, there was plenty to eat, or so I'd thought.

"The hotel and the food are fine." Sam assured, his voice softened as his hazel eyes met my green ones long enough for me to spot the sincerity.

"Then what has got you thinking we need money so bad?"

"The car." Sam admitted, nodding back toward the black vehicle just barely visible in the darkness.

My jaw dropped, this had to be a fucking joke. The teenager spoke up a split second before I could rip him a new one for being such a goddamn moron.

"The door is still dented and you've been cruising around without a driver's side window for over a month, and the entire left side of the vehicle needs a paint job."

"That's not a fucking goddamn, Sam. It's not life or death, it's just a fucking car." I spat out, my jaw clicking as I clenched it.

Sam gave me an odd look, somewhere between surprise and indignation.

"It would take months before we even had half the money needed for any of those repairs, Dean. Months." The youngest Winchester declared, his tone passionate as though he was making the most significant statement of the night.

"So what!?" I hollered, waving my hands in the air, shocked as hell at how mixed up my kid really was.

"So, I'm the one who totalled it and I should be the one to pay for the repairs."

"By selling yourself?" I snapped.

"That's not what I—

"Listen here, you stupid little shit." I yelled, grabbing the smaller boy by his collar and positioning my face inches from his. "We will never need money bad enough for you to resort to that. You got me? We won't ever be that fucking poor. I won't allow it. I will sell everything I own, I will sell the goddamn car – I will rob a fucking bank – I will do anything it takes to keep us from ever needing money that bad."

Shock was not the expression I had hoped to see on my little brother's face, and it did nothing to calm the flames of outrage consuming me.

"But, Dean, I messed it up, I crashed the car."

"So what?!" I exclaimed, feeling as though I was beginning to sound like a broken record.

"It's the Impala! It's your baby." Sam replied, sounding as baffled as he looked.

That was it.

I couldn't take it a moment longer. I couldn't fucking breathe for another minute. I couldn't live with the thought that my kid was under the impression that a hunk of metal held more value than he did.

I shoved myself away from Sam, marching around him, rapidly approaching the car. I diverted my course to grab a tire iron resting near the edge of the lot, before stalking towards the dark vehicle barely visible beneath the cloud covered night sky and dimly lit bar.

The moment I reached my prized possession, I swung.

The back passenger-side window spider-cracked at the first connection and was reduced to tiny shards by the second swing. I could hear my name being called over the satisfying shatter of the window, but it didn't slow me down.

The trunk was my next victim, dents appearing each time the metal met.

I didn't slow at the sight of the damage I was inflicting on the Impala, nor did the reverberation of the swings delay me in the slightest, what did bring an end to my tirade, was my little brother forcing his way between me and the target of my fury.

"Dean! Stop it!" He hollered, for what I knew hadn't been the first, second, or third time.

I moved around him, nudging him to the side – something that I knew would have been much more difficult had the young hunter not been injured – and made to take another swing, only to have the tire iron ripped from my grip.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted, chucking my weapon of convenience clear across the parking lot.

"Do you understand now? Do you fucking get it?" I yelled, the physical release having done little to alleviate my explosive frustration.

"Get what? That you've lost your damn mind?" The teenager responded, using his good arm to shove me a step further from the vehicle, and then crowding me to keep me there – what can I say? The kid had learned from the best.

"I'm not the one who has lost my mind. You almost sold yourself for the car, Sam. You damn near put yourself through hell for a fucking vehicle." My voice cracked as I realized the horror of what could have been, what my little brother nearly put himself through, all for the stupid car.

"I just wanted to make it right." Sam professed, the sincerity in his tone only making the despair lining his face that much more painful.

"You think that would make it right? You think I could live with myself knowing what you did – what you put yourself through – all for some cash?"

"It's not like it matters." He mumbled with a shrug.

"How the hell could you say that?" I growled, this conversation seeming to be going in circles.

"I'm damaged goods." Sam confessed in a whisper, his gaze downcast.

My fists and teeth clenched as I realized that of course it came back to that.

Back to him.

That monster who had violated my kid brother.

Every time I thought I couldn't hate that dead bastard any more than I already did, something like this happened and proved me wrong.

"Listen to me, Sam." I ordered, knowing that giving the teenager demands tended to backfire, but I needed his undivided attention, which he reluctantly granted me. The hazel eyes that met mine were so lost, my heart clenched at the sight of them.

My little brother was drowning and he needed me to pull him back onto solid ground.

I took a step closer, stooping down a little to be at eye level with the smaller boy, my left hand resting against his collarbone and my right hand moving to the back of his neck beneath all that girlie hair.

"You are not damaged." I declared, my tone certain and my expression stern, leaving no room for argument. "You are worth more than any amount of cash. You are worth more then some sleezy hookup. You are worth more than the fucking car."

"It's more than just a car, Dean." He responded, sniffing quietly as he gestured back to the damaged vehicle.

"Maybe. But it's still less than you, Sammy. It doesn't even make the goddamn list." I rasped, nearly choking up at the mere idea that my little brother didn't know how far below him the Impala was on my list of priorities.

How could the kid not know that he was first? That he had always been first, since the day he was born.

"You got that? Nothing is worth you being hurt like that. Not money, not the car, not me. Nothing." I asserted, passion making my tone harsh, but Sam knew me well enough – could read me well enough to see what was underneath. His gaze examined mine, the hazel clouded by moisture as he sniffed again.

He wasn't yet convinced, I could tell, but he was getting it, slowly but surely I was getting through that thick skull.

"You're first, Sam. You always have been." I declared, in an earnest whisper, my forehead resting against his as I gently squeezed the back of his neck. "You got me?"

I felt his bangs move against my skin as he nodded. His comprehension of his worth, or at least his worth to me, soothed the fear and frustration that had been storming inside of me. I took a moment to breathe in some relief before straightening out and pulling back just a little, releasing my hold on the teenager.

"I just wanted to pay for the repairs for the car." Sam admitted with a shrug.

I shook my head. "You don't owe me anything, Sam. The damage to the Impala was not your fault. Some drunk asshole ran a stop sign and plowed into you. It wasn't your fault and it's not your responsibility and neither were the hospital bills or the medication or any of that shit." I clarified, for what had to be the fifteenth time since the accident.

Sam clenched his jaw, visibly disagreeing, but he didn't object – which meant he knew I wouldn't go for whatever lame-ass argument he had in mind, it was also the first sign of him finally starting to come around on the matter.

"Don't you ever scare my like that again." I instructed gruffly, watching as Sam swiped away the few tears that had escaped and were rolling down his face. His eyes glistened with tears that he refused to shed, but they no longer looked as lost or desperate as they had just moments ago.

Thank God, I hated seeing my kid look so shattered, I couldn't handle that shit.

"Scare you? Watching you attack your car was terrifying. I thought you'd finally cracked." Sam stated, his comment genuine, even as his lips twitched a playful smile.

"I just about lost my damn mind, hearing you spout the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life." I replied honestly.

"The stupidest?" Sam queried, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah. And if I ever hear you say garbage like that again, I'm going to beat your ass." I promised, wagging a finger in the skinny teen's direction.

Sam rolled his eyes with a snicker, wiping his nose with his sleeve as he responded. "Like you did to your car?"

I nodded. "Worse probably, my car didn't say anything stupid." I pointed out with a smirk as I made my way toward the vehicle and opened the passenger door. "In you get, short-stop." I said, nodding down at the seat.

Sam listened willingly enough, dropping tiredly onto the upholstery, flinching as his shoulder made contact.

"Careful." I chastised, not unsympathetically as I watched him clutch at the sling restraining his left limb.

"I'm fine." He lied.

"Sit tight, I'll be right back." I declared, about to swing the door closed before a tug on my sleeve stopped me.

"Where you going?" Sam asked, giving me that squinty suspicious look that told me he thought he knew the answer and he disapproved.

"I have to go deal with that fucktard."

My sleeve was tugged again, pausing my departure.

"Just leave it, Dean. You can't rip the lungs out of some drunk lady." Sam reasoned, quirking a joking smile that nowhere near reached his eyes.

"I don't care if it's the fucking Queen of England, Sam, someone treats you like that and I pull their organs out through their goddamn esophagus. That's how this works." I decreed vehemently.

"It's not like neither of us have been propositioned before." He muttered, I could tell by his lame-ass attempt at a smile, that just ended up looking sad, that he was trying to make a joke – but there was no humor in this.

I shook my head, because this wasn't the same.

"She wasn't just some lady hitting on you, dude. She treated you like a fucking object she could rent and then toss away."

"Sam—

"That bitch tried to whore you out."

I regretted my word choice the moment I saw Sam's flinch, but I didn't allow it to waver my argument.

"She tried to use you and she didn't care about how that made you feel, she didn't give a shit that you were uncomfortable, and she didn't fucking care that you obviously aren't of age."

"I was in the bar." Sam provided the pathetic defense with about as much conviction as it deserved, which was none.

"Yeah, and the only reason you could get into it was because they cared more about profits than abiding by the law. You don't look near eighteen. Hell, you don't even look sixteen."

Sam scowled at that, but he couldn't deny the truth.

"That pervert said that shit to you knowing full-well that you weren't into her and you were underage."

"We don't know that for sure, the age of consent—

"We do know that. I sure as hell know that. She tried to victimize a fucking child. And if you think that I'm just going to walk away without doing something about that, then you're out of you fucking mind." I shouted, attempting to pull away one more time.

But Sam's hold was unyielding.

"Dean." Was all he said, but he used that tone of voice he knew I couldn't argue with – the one with that sounded too much like please. As if that wasn't enough ammo, he paired it with that damn puppy-dog-eyed look that would no doubt be the end of me one day.

"I'm not going to hit her, Sam." I relented.

The hazel gaze studied me for a moment. I knew that Sam was both checking to ensure I was being honest, as well as testing to see if I could be further convinced to drop the matter entirely. He found what I knew was there. Honesty, accompanied by an uncompromising need to put the fear of Dean Winchester into the person who had wronged my kid.

"Just don't take too long." Sam allowed, releasing the cuff of my jacket. "It's cold in the car now that you smashed another window." He added with a small teasing grin.

I twitched a smile at the later comment and nodded my had in compliance with the former.

"Maybe I should come with you." Sam suggest, chewing on his lip and looking up at me nervously.

I knew that he didn't want to, it was all over his face, the last thing he wanted was to walk back into that building and lay eyes on the bitch that had made him feel like a fucking piece of property. No, there was no way Sam wanted to go back in there, but he would, he would do it so that he could watch my back.

This damn kid, looking out for me even when he was the one struggling.

"No, kiddo, I've got this. You just sit tight. I'll stay out of trouble, I promise." I assured, maintaining my calm so my little brother didn't have to worry about me losing control and getting into a fight. Not that I didn't want to, but I wouldn't, not with my kid waiting on in the car for me.

Sam gave me a hesitant nod before relaxing back in his seat, his eyes closing for a moment. I had no doubt the young man was exhausted, not to mention due for another round of pain pills.

"Lock the doors."

"I'm not sure it matters with all the missing windows." He pointed out.

"Smart-ass." I quipped, scanning to be sure all Sam's limbs were tucked inside the vehicle before shutting the door. I stood waiting for him to lock it, knocking on the window when he failed to do so.

One very dramatic teenage eyeroll later, the doors were locked and I was releasing my anger and allowing it to propel me rapidly towards the bar.

It took me a couple of seconds to spot the piece of crap at the table and an even shorter amount of time to walk up to her.

She smiled as I approached, alcohol clearly inhibiting her people-reading skills, that or the trash never had any.

"Well, hey there, sugar. You're not exactly my type but I wouldn't mind taking you for a quick spin." The over-dressed, make-up coated, middle-aged woman stated with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

"Really, now?" I exclaimed, feigning interest, barely able to quell the dangerous thrum of my homicidal urge. "You like'em younger, huh?"

"Oh sweetie, you have no idea." She answered with a twisted grin, her polished nails toying with the zippered edge of my jacket up near my chest.

"Really?" I prodded.

"Mmm, yes. You're a little old for me actually." She admitted, looking up at me from where I stood next to her table.

"Is that so?" I commented, trying to keep things playful, even as my stomach flipped and the sound of my blood pumping beat in my ears.

"You see, sugar, I like to turn boys into men. You, my dear, are already a full-fledged man." She pouted, her pink nail dragging across the fabric of my shirt down my chest.

"Can't be easy to find too many boys in here." I observed.

"There's always ways to find what one needs in this world." She replied vaguely with a shrug. "Sometimes it costs a pretty penny, like the treat I had my eyes on earlier."

My fists clenched as my rage mounted. "Is that so?"

"Mmm, yes. The boy couldn't have been a day over fifteen, he was pretty as an angel, and he looked like the unfortunate type who's always in need a little extra cash. I knew if I made the right offer it shouldn't take too long to get the kid in bed." She reported with a damn near ecstatic grin. "I was eager to make a man out of him, but it seems he snuck off before giving me that chance." She sulked, her fingers finding and toying with the amulet hanging from my neck.

That was her second unforgivable offense that night, after victimizing my kid.

I couldn't play the game anymore.

I could no longer restrain the fury storming inside of me.

I grabbed her wrist, forcing her to release the metallic charm.

I watched her face morph from excited seduction to horror as I mercilessly crushed her wrist, my iron grip not ceasing even as I watched her contorting in her chair – trying and failing to escape the pain.

I leaned in close, unleashing every drop of hate I had been fighting to hide just seconds before.

"Listen here, you pedophilic cunt, you ever make an advance on my brother or any other underage kid ever again – I'll dice you into so many tiny fucking pieces there won't be any hope in hell in finding your remains." I threatened, discreetly pulling the switchblade from my pocket and flicking it open inches from her face – just for good measure.

She released a pitiful squeak of pain, but anger flashed through her eyes as she tried to pull out of my hold.

"I don't make them do anything they don't want to." She seethed.

Her fire was no match for mine. I gripped her wrist impossibly tighter, towering over her as I responded, keeping my voice low as to not attract too much attention – only because I had promised my little brother that I'd stay out of trouble.

"Nah. You just prey on them – children. You find the ones that need something and you bribe them, you fucking use them for your own goddamn enjoyment. You exploit these boys for the sake of fulfilling your fucked-up pedo fantasies. You are no better than all the pimps and rapists and pieces of scum out there, using and abusing anyone they can get their filthy hands on."

The arrogance of the perverted predator was nowhere insight as the piece of shit coward away from me sobbing like the spineless little bitch she was.

"You get away with all this shit because you find the ones that are all alone. The kids that ain't got nobody looking out for them. You took one look at the teenager sitting alone in the corner of the bar and you thought you'd found your next victim." I fumed, my tone low and vicious as I placed the bade of the knife against her cheek, an inch beneath her right eye.

Her lips quivered and she cried silently.

I sneered at the sight.

"But you made a mistake this time. Because that kid wasn't alone. He ain't ever alone. I'm always around looking out for him, protecting him from monsters like you." I vowed. "You stay the fuck away from my kid and every other underage boy out there, or I'll give you the makeover you fucking deserve." I swore, pressing the blade against her cheek just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

She snivelled pitifully, hiccupping a sob as she shook in terror.

"You got that, you piece of shit?"

She nodded rapidly, probably making herself dizzy with the speed of it.

Once the level of fear emitting from her satisfied me that she was frightened enough for her pathetic life that she was taking me seriously, I closed the small weapon and slid it back into my pocket, as I released her wrist – not failing to see the violent marks that I had left there.

Maybe that cunt would think twice before she approached her next target.

I forced my legs to carry me from the building, doing all I could to suppress my desire to put that fucker's head on a stick.

The sight of the shaggy-headed teen staring anxiously at the bar from the passenger seat of the Impala, was all I needed to push any remaining rage aside.

I was so full of hate for the monsters of the world – just as I was trained to be - and it had always helped when it came to annihilating them, but once the hunt was over that hateful fury could very easily overcome me – Sam was the only reason it never had.

There was no emotion that had a fighting chance against the love that always consumed me when I saw my little brother.

The hate, rage, fury, anger, despair, frustration, it all took a backseat to the joy, peace, and love that I always felt whenever Sammy was around.

The kid was my saving grace.

And I would protect him at all cost.

"You okay?" Sam asked as I dropped into the driver's seat and guided the Impala out onto the dimly lit gravel road – eager to put some distance between us and that predator.

"Yeah, I'm good. I didn't get into any trouble. And I didn't hit her." I responded, answering all the questions I suspected would shortly be on their way.

"But you hurt her." The teenager responded knowingly, not sounding surprised or disappointed, simply stating a fact.

Damn, if that brat couldn't read me just as well as I could him.

"Nothing that will need any medical attention." I stated with a shrug.

Sam nodded.

I was surprised that he let it go just like that, I had been prepared for a lecture of some sort of another. And because I'm a moron who can't leave well enough alone – I mentioned it.

"What? No life lesson? No after school special about the negative effects of physical violence, or treating woman with respect?" I inquired, eyebrow raised in curiosity as I stopped at the red light – rather pointlessly because it was nearly three in the morning and there weren't no cars in sight, but I'd already pushed limits today so I wasn't about to go ignoring traffic rules.

Sam twitched a grin, luckily taking no offense to me bringing up his self-appointed role as my moral compass.

"You did what you had to do." He responded with a shrug.

I waited for the continuation – the 'but' that would pre-empt a well-meaning comment on ethics. But nothing came, Sam stayed silent even as the light turned to green and we continued our drive through town.

"That's it?" I wondered, nearly five minutes later.

"Yeah, that's it."

It was good news, I wasn't going to be lectured about the line I had danced on – maybe even crossed in the eyes of society – I didn't have to worry about explaining my actions to my brother. It was good, and yet a small part me was afraid that maybe Sam was done with playing the part of my conscience, or worse, maybe I had corrupted the younger boy with my questionable behaviours.

"Dean."

The soft call snagged my attention, the way it always did.

I glanced to my right, catching the soft hazel eyes that were leveling me with an understanding look.

"You did what you had to do. You protected me, the way you always do." Grateful appreciation oozed from Sam's voice, though it was entirely unnecessary. "You didn't cross any lines, even though I know that took a lot of restraint. You did the right thing, you always do."

I grunted at that, because it was bullshit. But I couldn't disregard the other comments the teen had made. I stood up for my little brother, and I did it without putting anyone in the hospital. That was a win, and if I didn't take a win wherever I could, my last name wouldn't be Winchester.

"Sometimes I think you've got to much faith in me, Sammy." I admitted gruffly, guiding the beaten black car into the hotel parking lot.

"I don't have any faith in you." The words were spoken with a calm confidence and yet they felt like a sucker punch to the solar plex.

I struggled to find some internal balance as I abruptly pulled into a parking spot and came to a rigid stop, clumsily tugging the key from the ignition.

I didn't have a response, which was fine because I couldn't fucking breathe.

What the hell was I supposed to say to that anyway?

Ofcourse, it wasn't like I could blame the kid, how many times had I let him down?

I let that monster violate him when he was just a child and then I let some bitch try and fucking rent the teen – which he nearly goes through with because I somehow lead him to believe that the goddamn car held more worth than he did.

Thin fingers curled around my forearm, and as much as I felt way too ashamed to look my little brother in the eyes, I couldn't resist his prompting – it was ingrained in me to respond to the kid.

"Faith is the belief in something that hasn't been proven." He recited in his token I'm-Sam-and-I-know-everything tone, but this time it had a more sympathetic edge than usual. "I have sixteen years of proof." He added, a lop-sided grin revealing those damn dimples, sincerity pouring from his gaze.

And just like that I could breathe again, even with the lump forming in my throat.

I could do little more than nod, as I digested my little brother's declaration.

Sam wasn't waiting for a response, he knew me well and simply squeezed my arm before moving to get out of the car.

I snagged his sling, not pulling at it, just holding him in place. He took his hand off the door handle and turned to me, giving me a questioning look.

"I need you to promise me something." I said, clearing my throat and forcing myself to meet those dough eyes.

"Anything." Sam replied without a second of thought, sounding damn near eager, as though he owed me something.

I twitched a smile, seeing the child I'd raised in the mature, loyal, compassionate, young man sitting next to me. My expression grew serious as I considered what I was about to say.

"If you ever start thinking the way you were today – thinking about being broken or feeling like you don't matter or that you not worth fucking everything – if you ever feel like that again, you need to promise to tell me." I implored.

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, his gaze wandering – the epitome of guilt. As much as Sam loved to talk (to me, at least), he didn't open up about what was going on in that big brain of his as easily as he used to when he was younger. He was more of a puzzle now, but one I could still usually figure out with a little effort. But it had taken me too long this time around and Sam had nearly been hurt, again, because it had taken me too damn long to see how lost the kid was.

It was unacceptable, and I couldn't allow it to happen again.

"Please, Sammy." I didn't plead often, and it was something I only ever did for my brother. I loathed begging, it was for weak-ass sonsofbitches and I wouldn't do it to save my goddamn life, but I would do it for Sam. I would plead and beg all day for that kid. And though I think Sam knew that, he never took advantage of it - not for one damn second.

The teenager's indecision faded, compassion taking its place.

"Okay, Dean. I promise." He responded softly.

I knew he was appeasing me more than anything. Sam knew more than anyone how much I couldn't stand begging and he knew it was a reflection of just how desperate I was feeling. He was trying to put me out of my pain. I knew that, but I also knew my little brother, and regardless of motive – when Sam made a promise he did his best to keep it. I needed to trust that. I needed to trust my kid to come to me next time he felt the world caving in on him.

And I would always be watching out, just in case he couldn't.

I nodded my head and exited the vehicle as though I could escape my emotions as simply. Not another word was spoken as we entered our rented room. I didn't need verbal language to force Sam to take his pain pills, after which we both got ready for bed in a comfortable silence.

I was laying on my back, staring at the slivers of street light speckling the ceiling, when Sam spoke, sounding soft but sure.

"You'd be worth it."

I frowned, wondering if the kid was talking in his sleep.

"What?" I ventured curiously.

I heard Sam clear his throat in that anxious way he always does when he's feeling uncertain.

"What you said before. You said that it wasn't worth it, what I, umm, what I was going to do – you said nothing was worth going through with that; not the money, not the car, and not you."

I nodded, both recalling the conversation and agreeing with myself.

"But that's not true. Cause you're worth it."

I frowned, rolling my head to the right, the glow from the headlights of a passing car illuminating the teen's thin form as he stared up at the ceiling, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Doing that – being … used like that, you would be worth it." Sam declared, the disjointed nature of the statement doing nothing to hinder its conviction.

"No, Sam. I wouldn't. Nothing and no one is worth you being hurt, especially that way." I contended adamantly, my insides twisting at the thought.

There was a moment of silence, which I figured meant the matter was settled – I was wrong. Shocker.

"To me, you would be worth it." Sam announced, his voice cracking, but his tone as certain as it had ever been, leaving me no room for argument.

The memory of that statement scared me as much now as it had the first time I'd heard it.

Because I knew it was true.

For me, Sam would do anything – put himself through anything.

And as much as that frightened me, and I currently resented it, I could hardly fault him for it because I would do the same. If Sam's life was on the line, if someone was threatening him, I would do anything to keep him safe, as would Sam do for me.

His entire life the kid never seemed to understand that he wasn't the big brother.

That it wasn't his job to defend me or worry about me or take care of me, that was my job. And no matter how many times I had tried to explain that to the little brat, he never changed his ways.

And while that made me feel more loved than anything ever had in my entire life, it also frightened me in ways no monster ever could.

Knowing that somebody would willingly destroy themselves for you, was both the greatest blessing on earth and fucking terrifying.

Normally it was the former, but right now I was consumed by the latter.

I had to find us a way out of this mess, because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if Sam allowed himself to be violated and destroyed – all in an effort to keep me safe.

That would ruin me just as it would him, and I wasn't able to allow it.

I had to save us both, before the sonuvabitch eviscerated me and my kid brother, for the second goddamn time.

"I'll get us out of this, Sammy." I vowed.

The dread dominating the younger man's expression gave way to a sorrowful sympathy as he looked into my eyes.

"It's okay if you can't." He spoke softly, his tone drenched in gracious understanding.

"Sam—

"I know you'll try, but just, if you can't - I want you to know that it's okay. Whatever happens, it's okay – I'll be okay. We'll be okay." Sam claimed putting on a brave face, but sounding as though he were trying to convince the both of us, like his was wishing and willing his words to be true.

I shook my head, because it wasn't okay.

Sam being hurt was never – would never be okay.

"Whatever happens. We'll get through. We'll figure it out." The statement was shaky, but I heard the attempt at confidence and – in complete contradiction – the hidden plea.

It wasn't okay, but Sam would be, whatever I had to do, I would make sure of that.

"Right?"

The plea was no longer disguised, and I found my heart clenching as I stared at those wide eyes that I knew so much better than anyone else's, even my own – those hazel orbs looked just as lost as they had outside that bar all those years ago.

My kid was drowning and he needed me to pull him back to safety.

I couldn't physically rescue Sam at the current moment – which was fucking killing me – but I could damn well provide the assurance he was so timidly seeking.

"We'll figure it out, Sammy. You and me, we'll be okay. We'll make it through. Just like we always do." I promised, watching as the younger man studied me, knowing he was searching for honesty.

I wasn't worried about the results of the exam, because I was being honest. We had been in dark times before, more than I cared to recall, and had made it through every goddamn one, not unscathed, but we had still made it. And we would make it through this.

No matter what.

A ghost of a smile tugged at Sam's lips, doing nothing to chase away the fear firmly implanted across his expression, but when his gaze returned to mine, it no longer looked lost; hurt and fearful perhaps, but not lost.

And as the distant murmur or a voice went silent and footsteps could be heard approaching the room we were being held in, my soul remained settled by the knowledge that Sam and I would make it through.

Neither of us were ever truly lost while we still had each other.

I refused to allow Sam to be swept away by trauma.

And Sam saved me from being overcome with hate.

When one began to drown, the other pulled him on to dry land – intentionally or otherwise.

That was how we had made it through so may horrors in our lives.

It wasn't our training.

It wasn't our ability.

It wasn't luck – we were Winchesters, after all.

It wasn't even our stubborn determination.

What had gotten us through every shitstorm in our past was our bond as brothers.

And it was what would get us through our current crisis.

Whatever happened, whatever terror life dished out next, whatever sick garbage this bastard had planned, whatever happened, Sammy and I would make it through.

We would save each other.

Like we always did.

Note: that one hurt like a sonuvabitch, eh?! Sorry updates take so long, but in my defense this asshole chapter is 15,000+ words long and that takes a hell of a lot of time. As I have assured ya'll dozens of times, I haven't forgotten about any of my multi-chap fics and will be hopefully finishing them all this year (that seems like a long timeline but I can assure you it is not) so don't fret! Please leave a comment/review if you have a moment, I'd love to know there are still some people out there reading this fic - also this one is the most difficult for me to write on an emotional level and I find it incredibly draining, so it would be nice that I don't put myself through all that for no reason. You know?! Anyways, thank you so much for reading! Until next time - Sam.