FYI GUYS, I AM REPOSTING "CHOICES" AS CHAPTER ONE OF "MY BOYS". IT STANDS AS THE FIRST CHAPTER IN THIS SERIES. I WON'T BE MOVING THE OTHER CHAPTERS FROM DON'T MOVE OVER HERE AS THEY ARE STAND-ALONE WINCESTY GOODNESS. CHAPTER TWO, "JUST A LITTLE TORTURE", FOLLOWS "CHOICES".

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CHOICES

"Sam?"

Sam spun around to face his father, hazel eyes wide and shocked.

John looked at the duffel slung over his son's shoulder. "Where you going?"

"What are you doing here?" Sam gasped.

"Hunt turned out to be a false alarm," John said, frowning, not missing the fact that Sam hadn't answered him. "Where are you going?"

Sam couldn't think of a single lie that his father would believe. Dropping the duffel, he ran for the front door, his father close behind him.

John caught him at the door. Sam tried to get around him, go for the kitchen door, but, cursing, John cuffed him on the side of the head, grabbed him by the arm and slammed him up against the door. "Knock it off!"

Panicking, Sam tried to jerk away from his father's hard hands. "Let me go!"

"Not until you calm down." John barked. His dark eyes were cold. "What the hell is going on?"

"Let me go."

"Where?" John said sharply. "Why?"

Sam looked into his father's eyes, saw both the man he'd loved and a man he feared deeply. "Where doesn't matter. And - " he hesitated, then took the plunge - "you know why."

John's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his son's arm.

Heart pounding at the look in his father's eyes, Sam tried again. "Let me go."

John ignored him, jerking him away from the door and pulling him back toward the kitchen.

Frantic now, Sam struggled harder, finally managing to tear himself out of John's hands. Growling, the big man hit him again and Sam lost his balance, falling to the floor.

John reached down to pull him up, his face set and angry and Sam pulled his .45 out of his jacket.

"Don't you fucking touch me!"

John gaped at the gun. "Son -"

"Don't call me that! Get back!"

Seeing the way the gun was shaking in his terrified son's hands, John took a couple of steps back, watched as Sam rose. "We need to talk."

Sam shook his head fiercely. "There's nothing to talk about. Not anymore. " He gestured to the couch. "Go sit down."

John didn't move.

"Now!"

Cautiously eying the gun, John backed up until the back of his legs hit the worn couch, dropped down onto it.

"I know what you were planning," Sam said furiously. "I know."

"You don't know a damned thing," John answered warily. "You're sick, you must be to point a gun at your own father."

"You liar!" Sam spat. "How were you going to explain it to Dean? 'Sorry, son, Sammy just didn't work out. Gimme a minute while I put a bullet in his head?'"

Shocked, John stammered, "Sam, I would never -"

"Don't lie!" Sam screamed.

The kitchen door slammed and Dean's voice called out. "Hey, Dad! You back already?"

Sam turned white. Oh God, no, not this. I don't want to tell him, please I don't want to tell him.

Dean appeared in the doorway, grinning. His grin vanished when he saw Sam pointing a gun at their father. "Sam?"

Relieved, John started up from the couch. "Dean -"

"Stay there!" Sam warned him, breathing ragged, and his father dropped back down, scowling. "I don't want to shoot you, but I will!"

"Sam?" Dean's eyes tracked between his father and brother, fastened on his seemingly hysterical brother. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam looked at him pleadingly. "Dean –"

"He's leaving," John said bluntly.

"What?" All the color left Dean's face. His green eyes were stricken, voice shaking. "Sammy, no."

Sam's mouth trembled. "Dean - I - please."

"Sam, why? I don't understand –"

"It doesn't matter why he's leaving, Dean," John interrupted. "You can't let him. You need to get hold of this situation right now."

Dean waved his father to silence. "Sam, tell me what's wrong -"

"Dean -" John started to stand again.

Sam fired a shot into the floor at John's feet. Dean cried out and the older man fell back onto the couch with a curse. "Are you insane?" he cried. "What are you doing, son?"

The smell of cordite was thick in the air. "Don't call me that!" Sam said tightly. "I'm not your son. Not anymore."

"Sam, what the fuck!" Dean said furiously. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam laughed wildly. "A lot! Nothing I can fix, that's for sure." Dean sighed and Sam's eyes darkened with pain. "Yeah, I know, same old shit, huh? Sick of it, aren't you? Sick of me."

Dean looked at him, shook his head. "No, Sam. Not sick of you." Their eyes locked and Sam's throat tightened. He looked away with difficulty, glared at his father. "It's not my fault that Mom died."

John glared at him. "Don't you talk about her."

Flabbergasted, Dean said, "Dad, what - Sam, it wasn't your fault, why would you think –"

"Dad thinks that!"

"That's not true," Dean protested. "I don't know where you're getting this, Sammy, it's crazy. Put the gun down, we can talk about it, figure it out –"

"Just take the damned gun away from him, Dean!" John yelled angrily. "He won't shoot you, get over there and -"

"Damn it, the demon told me everything!" Sam shouted desperately into the chaos.

"What?" Both John and Dean spoke together.

Sam's breathing was fast, eyes fastened imploringly on his brother. "He's been coming to me in my dreams the last few weeks. He showed me what happened. He fed me his blood the night Mom died. Demon blood!"

Dean stared at him, horrified, and Sam's heart broke. Oh God. He hates me now. I knew it. I knew it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. The pistol wavered.

John started to rise and Sam jerked the gun back onto him. "Don't you fucking move!" he warned, finger twitching spasmodically on the trigger.

"I don't understand," Dean stammered. "Why - demon blood? Why?"

"It's not just me." Sam swallowed. "He did the same thing to lots of other kids." A single tear ran down his cheek. "We're his weapons; some kind of stupid evil army." He shook his head. "God, that sounds so crazy."

"That's because it is crazy, Sam," Dean said impatiently. "That demon is playing you, trying to freak you out. Besides, that doesn't explain why you're trying to leave. And the gun."

Sam's eyes were bleak. "The demon told me – Dad's going to kill me."

"Demons lie, Sam!" Dean said, outraged. "Dad would never hurt you. Never!"

"That's what I thought." Sam looked bitterly at John. "Then he told me about Dad's secret journal."

John flinched.

"What secret journal?" Dean asked, baffled. "I've never seen –"

"Secret journal, Dean." "I found it in his truck before he left last night." With his free hand he dug into his jacket pocket, took out a small, black notebook and tossed it in Dean's direction.

Dean snagged it in mid-air, looking at it curiously before looking at his father. John kept his eyes on his youngest son, on the gun.

"Turn to the last entry," Sam said. He looked at John, lost love and rage battling in his heart for ascendance.

Dean thumbed the notebook open. Hands trembling, he read the last entry. Re-read it. He looked at his father disbelievingly. "Dad?"

John looked at his lieutenant stonily. "Dean, you have to understand. This isn't something I want to do. Sam is my son. I love him, just as much as I love you."

Sam laughed; it turned into a ragged sob. "Yeah, right. You fucking liar. God, I hate you for this. Why couldn't you believe in me? Why couldn't you love - " Heart shredded, he looked away from his father's rigid face, drew a deep breath.

I can't take much more of this. Of him.

"I have two choices," Sam said to Dean. "Leave, or die."

Dean shuddered at the desolate look in Sam's eyes, the shaking gun. "Don't. Don't."

Sam tried to smile, failed miserably. "it's been bad for a long time. No matter what I do, it's never good enough and it never will be. He's always watching me, waiting for me to turn. And now that I know . . ." He shrugged, fought himself back to a shaky semblance of control. "I'm sorry, brother."

Dean took a quick step forward, eyes. "Sam." When his brother stumbled back a step, Dean stopped. "Sam," he said pleadingly. "Baby, please."

John looked at Dean, confused. Baby?

Shaking, Sam said, "I would never let myself be used by that demon, no matter what Dad thinks."

"I know you wouldn't, Sam." Dean moved forward again, desperate to get the gun away from him, to take that defeated look out of his eyes. "I raised you."

Tears spilling over, not wanting to hope, but unable to stop himself, Sam let his brother, his lover, approach.

John watched closely, ready to make his move.

Sam saw John's eyes, knew he thought that Dean would back him - Dad's good little soldier. And maybe he would.

Close now, Dean put a hand on Sam's arm, touched his cheek gently.

Sam stared into his heart's eyes and a kaleidoscope of memories filled him, warmed him – Dean holding his hand on the way to school; Dean bathing him, tucking him into bed at night. Teaching him to shoot, sparring with him. Teasing, smiling, laughing. Staring into his eyes with love and lust. Fucking him, loving him.

And always - always - standing between him and danger.

The hell with it. If Dean could betray him, Sam wanted to be dead anyway.

He let Dean take the gun.

John surged up off the couch, dark eyes burning with satisfaction, which lasted just until Dean swung around and stuck the .45 into his father's face.

"You son-of-a-bitch! You were going to kill him?"

Looking into Dean's furious eyes, John knew he'd somehow seriously misjudged the situation. Knew he was in even more danger now than when Sam had the gun.

"Dean, you know what's at stake," he forced out. "It's not just Sam's life. It's six billion people. It's the world."

Dean looked into Sam's eyes, then back at his father. "Fuck the world." He shoved John roughly back onto the couch.

Then, his father watching, Dean pulled Sam to him and kissed him - tender, ardent and possessive.

No more hiding, not from anyone.

John's mouth dropped open; his eyes filled with horror.

Trembling violently, Sam clutched at Dean's shoulders, relief, love and terror storming through him.

Dean smiled at him. "Hold it together, baby. We're not out of here yet."

Sam looked at John. The man's face was livid with rage as he stared at his sons. "He'll follow us."

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Dean said reassuringly. "I'm not letting him hurt you."

Sam smiled. The sweetness of it almost brought Dean to his knees. He kissed him again, lightly. "Go to our room, pack up my stuff, and anything of yours you don't already have. Go on, hurry!" Sam nodded and ran from the room. "Don't forget the sawed-off in the closet!"

Beyond caution now, John roared up from the couch. "What the hell? How long have you been fucking that little bastard?"

"Dad -"

"Is a little ass all it took to make you forget who you are? What you are?"

"Shut up, Dad!" Dean gritted out warningly.

"God damn it!' John hissed virulently. "I should have killed that boy when he was born, before he infected you with his poison."

Dean slammed the gun hard into his father's head, dropping him unconscious and bleeding to the floor. "I guess you'll shut up now, you crazy bastard," he said coldly.

Two minutes later, Sam came quickly back into the room, Dean's duffel in one hand and the sawed-off in the other, boxes of cartridges bulging from his jacket pockets. After one quick glance, he didn't look at his father again "Anything else?"

"Got a knife?"

Sam made a face, pulled a knife out of his boot. "Duh."

Dean grinned, gave Sam the keys to the Impala. "Smart ass. Put our stuff in the car. Then take care of his tires. I'll be out in a minute."

When Dean came out, John's truck was sitting on four rapidly deflating tires and the Impala was idling, Sam waiting anxiously in the front seat.

Sam scooted across the seat to him and hugged his brother tightly, breathing in the familiar scents of leather, tobacco, sweat - deanmydean.

"Listen, Sam -"

Sam interrupted him quickly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"Hey, I get it, I do," Dean reassured him. "We're good. But the next time a psychotic asshole tries to kill you, let me know, okay?"

"Okay." Sam looked back at the house. "Um . . ."

"Hog-tied," Dean said matter-of-factly. "Take him a couple hours to get out of it."

"Good," Sam said, relieved.

Dean guided the Impala out of the parking lot and they merged into traffic.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

Dean looked over at him, smiling faintly. "Does it matter?"

Hazel eyes gazed into green. "Not one damned bit."