Summer 1993

Sometimes, Dean thought, it was a shame they couldn't get paid for how well he could lie.

He'd learned, over the years, to look strangers in the eye and tell them whatever they wanted to hear. Like this afternoon, when Sammy fell in the parking lot and scraped his hands and knees. Some lady and her daughter stopped to see about him, naturally asking where their parents were.

Dean told her that their dad was a nuisance animal removal specialist. He was working a job, clearing out vermin from some old house someone wanted to convert into a bed and breakfast, and then the three of them were going up to Gatlinburg tomorrow for a long weekend. Oh no, they were fine. Dad left them plenty of money and he'd be back late tonight.

The truth was, Dad had brought them to North Carolina to investigate a haunted apple farm. By the time the dead migrant worker's remains had been located, salted, and burned, Uncle Travis called, needing Dad to come to West Virginia to help him with a shrtiga. Dad decreed it too dangerous, after what had happened before, and left Sammy and Dean behind while he went north.

The lady brought them into her room, where she cleaned the dirt and gravel off Sammy's wounds and offered them both a cookie. She and her daughter, Monica, were from Kentucky. They had stopped in town to check some antique shops before heading on to Myrtle Beach, where they were meeting family to celebrate Monica's high school graduation.

Monica walked them back to their room, but it was a beautiful day. Sammy asked if they could go to the park nearby, and Dean invited Monica along. She gratefully accepted, telling him otherwise her mother would have dragged her along through boring antique shops. The two of them sat on a bench to watch Sammy play.

"So how old are you?" she asked.

"Sixteen." Dean smirked.

"Really? Wow. Six years is a big age difference." She nodded toward Sammy, swinging like an ape on the jungle gym.

"Well, we had a sister between us. She died in the fire with our mom." He lied easily.

"Aw. I'm sorry." She laid a hand on his arm. "That's so sad."

"It was a long time ago." He shrugged. "When Sammy was a baby. He doesn't even remember them. But I do and I don't like to talk about it. Tell me about your family."

So she told him about an investment banker father and socialite mother who were now divorced and her dad remarried to his former secretary. She told him of a vacation house at the beach and piano lessons and summer camps where the wealthy sent their kids to keep them occupied.

They talked for hours, until Sammy came and announced he was hungry.

"I'd better take him to get something to eat." Dean said with an apologetic smile. "No telling how late Dad might be. He's always very thorough."

"I've really enjoyed talking to you." She smiled. "I don't usually like younger guys, but you're really mature. I guess it's from taking care of your brother. The guy at the motel desk told me that this great band is playing at a club down the street tonight, and they don't check ID unless you order a drink. After your dad gets back to stay with Sam, do you want to go?"

He was momentarily taken aback. He'd never been asked on an actual date before, and certainly not by someone four years older.

He recovered quickly. "Sounds great, doll. I'll come by your room later."

"Whenever." She shrugged. "Mom is going to some charity auction thing at the Grove Park tonight, so she won't be home until really late."

Dean cooked a couple microwave dinners, salisbury steak for himself and turkey for Sammy so he would sleep. For a little extra insurance, he convinced the kid to take a dose of cold medicine.

He tucked Sammy in and forced himself to wait ten whole minutes to make sure his little brother was good and asleep.

He then walked down to Monica's room. Her mom was already gone.

They walked down to a club called The Pumphouse, where the marquee proudly proclaimed "Tonight Only - Hootie and the Blowfish."

"What the hell is a Hootie and the Blowfish?" Dean asked uncertainly.

"I don't know, but they're supposed to be really good." Monica whispered in his ear, her arm sliding around his waist.

She paid the cover charge, and Dean slipped some guy a twenty to buy them a couple beers. The band didn't totally suck, not really Dean's style but Monica seemed to like them.

She even pulled him in for a slow dance after the second round of beer.

By the end of the song, Dean's jeans were uncomfortably tight, and Monica pressing herself against him wasn't helping.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes darkened to the point he would have thought her a demon under other circumstances. He dipped his head, closing his mouth over hers.

Her lips parted, and her tongue crept out to meet his. Dean pulled her closer, and her hands slid down his back to his ass as the kissed on.

Some jerk in the crowd jostled them and shouted "Get a room!"

She pulled back and smirked up at him. "I have one. And my mother won't be back until late."

Dean's heart stopped for a moment as he realized what she was inviting him to do.

Then he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the exit.

The motel room door barely closed behind them before clothes were being pulled off and tossed aside. They were naked by the time they reached the bed.

All right, so it was his first time, and he somewhat embarrassed himself in his eagerness. But he promised he would make it up to her the second time.

By the third time, he thought he somewhat had the hang of this.

Around midnight, she told him that he should probably get back to his room before her mom came back, or before his dad came looking for him.

He reluctantly agreed, even though he knew his father wouldn't be back tonight. Her mother would, though, and the last thing he needed was for some woman to call the cops and claim he had taken advantage of her daughter.

She handed him a scrap of paper, her address and phone number in Kentucky, so he could keep in touch. Then she kissed him and told him to come say goodbye in the morning.

He slipped back into his own room to find Sammy still asleep. He undressed in the dark, climbed into his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

For the first time in a very long time, he wished them out of this lifestyle.

He wished that he could stay somewhere long enough to actually have a girlfriend.

He wished he had someone he could tell that he wasn't a virgin any more. Well, he could tell Sammy, but Sammy wouldn't understand. He was only ten. And if he told Dad, Dad would probably beat his ass for leaving Sammy alone that long.

He squinted in the dark at the address and phone number Monica had given him, and decided that was the one thing that he regretted most of all. That he and Sammy didn't have a home. They didn't have an address to give someone.

His mind turned, and he wondered what it would be like.

Maybe that was the solution.

Older girls usually liked him. Maybe in a couple years, he could find one, lie about his age, and find a home for them. Somewhere he and Dad could come back to after a job. Somewhere he could leave Sammy and not have to worry about him. Some place Sammy could stay long enough to finish a library book and return it.

He drifted off to dream of picket fences and sunshine and a puppy running down the steps to greet him. He dreamed of a girl, maybe Monica, maybe someone else, who would be genuinely glad to see him come back.

And he dreamed of what he was going to do with that girl when he got back, but hey.

Sammy, having slept long and deeply, shook Dean awake at a little after six the following morning.

"I'm hungry, and we don't have any more milk for the cereal." He informed his older brother.

Dean grudgingly rolled out of bed, dressed in last night's clothes, and told Sammy to stay put.

He walked to the quick mart on the corner and picked up a pint of milk. He put in on the counter and opened his wallet to get money to pay for it.

His wallet was empty.

The whole $164 remaining of what Dad had left with them was gone. So was his credit card in the name of Richard Dean Anderson.

He ran back down to the motel, telling himself that the contents must have fallen out of his wallet when he had undressed in Monica's room.

The Cadillac with Kentucky plates was gone.

He banged on the door until someone opened the door of the next room and told him to knock it off before they called the cops.

With a sinking feeling, he went back to his own room and dialed the number on the paper she had given him.

He got an answering machine. At a Chinese resturant.

He slammed the phone down and threw himself back on the bed.

Dad was going to be furious. Not only did Dean let some girl steal all their money, but he had left Sammy alone so she could do it.

"Dean?" Sammy asked in a shaky whisper.

Dean didn't answer.

Sammy crawled onto the bed, laying beside his older brother. "Is Dad okay?"

"Yeah, it's nothing to do with Dad." Dean reassured him.

They lay in silence for a moment.

"I can eat my cereal without milk." Sammy murmured.

"Go do it then." Dean sighed.

Sammy stayed there for a minute, then slowly moved to the edge of the bed. There was rustle of crinkly paper, then the sound of flakes hitting a plastic bowl. There was crunching, and then Sammy asking "D'ya want some?" obviously around a mouthful.

"Not right now." Dean shook his head.

The cell phone rang and Dean snatched it up, hoping it was Monica, hoping she was calling to explain, even though he knew it wasn't.

It was Dad, telling them that he and Travis had wrapped up the case, and he would be there to collect them in a few hours.

Dean hung up the phone, and looked over to where his little brother sat in front of the television, munching on dry cereal with a smile on his face.

This was Dean Winchester's life.

Dad and Sammy were the people he could depend on.

No one else.

He made up his mind in that moment to never want anyone else in their little family again.