Eric stood outside one of the largest classroom buildings. Waiting. Knowing Sam would eventually have to show up here today for home room and he planned on being here to 'greet' the younger boy. Adam and Cody were passing a lit joint between them and Eric took a hit off of it every once in a while. None of them were worried about getting caught. Not this early in the morning, most of the teachers hadn't even shown up yet.

Eric didn't think they would have to wait very long for the younger boy. He'd learned Sam and his parent's routine pretty well over the last several weeks. He knew that if one of the younger boy's parents brought Sam in, or if Sam took the bus, then it would probably be early. Sam's first day of school had been an exception. That was why he'd originally offered to bring the younger boy to school every morning.

Eric scowled as his leg throbbed as he shifted his weight against the wall he was leaning against. Sam hadn't broken it. Lucky for him. But that certainly didn't mean that he was going to let the little fuck get off lightly. Oh hell no. He was going to make that little cock sucker wish he'd just sucked his dick nice and pretty and let Eric plow his pretty little ass. He's going to be begging to do just that by the time they were through with him.

If he showed up for school at all today, that was. Well, in that case, they'd simply go to the younger boy's home. Somehow they'd missed catching Sam on his way home last night and Eric wasn't pleased. But the fact that the police hadn't shown up at his home at any point during the night pretty much confirmed to him that Sam hadn't told anyone what had happened. Eric had been prepared, of course, if he had. But it wasn't like Sam had any proof of what Eric had done, and Sam knew that.

They all caught sight of the younger boy pretty much at the same time, hurrying towards the building where they were standing. Of course standing behind the angle of the stairs, Sam couldn't spot them easily. Eric waited until Sam got close enough he knew the younger boy wouldn't be able to outrun them easily. Giving Adam and Cody the nod the two other boys went after Sam.

Sam was watchful as he headed to homeroom. Eric knew him, new his habits. He hadn’t seen any of the young men’s cars in the parking lot, and they were probably too arrogant to think of parking elsewhere. They had all day to catch up with him, and more likely than not, Eric would strike at the end of school when Sam was trying to get to the bus. Hopefully his father had gotten him in early enough, but then having to change clothes had slowed him down a little. So long as he could keep with a crowd or in sight of a teacher, he figured he would be okay. At least he hoped so. He wasn’t entirely certain anyone would come to his rescue if he got jumped. He had seen just how much power Eric wielded. He wondered if there were any other like Dean who had stood up to Eric. Maybe he could ask around. It was a sure bet Dean didn’t want anything more to do with him. He'd made that pretty clear the night before.

Sam slowed as he grew closer to the building. No sense being stupid about this. He stopped and studied the shadows near the doorway, but he didn’t see anything. He moved forward a little slower and caught movement near the stairs, catching a slight whiff of weed. He had barely caught sight of Cody and Adam when he hauled ass toward another building. It didn’t matter. The two older boys were simply too close and too fast. Cody tackled him and he slammed into the ground, his already injured knee taking another hit. When they pulled him to his feet, he twisted and kneed Adam in his jewels, slipped his arm free and punched Cody in the gut. Cody hung onto him though and backfisted him across the face so hard he saw stars and fell back. Adam grabbed hold of his other arm and dragged Sam toward the building where Eric waited. Sam was still trying to clear his head by the time they reached the dark shadows of the stairs.

Eric watched the very brief fight with amusement. Of course Sam had no chance of escaping, not against two young men who were bigger, stronger, and faster than he was. He kept an eye out to see if anyone had witnessed the fight, but as he figured, there was no one around to notice. No one around who would really give a damn even if they had seen it. The place was deserted. They might as well be back out in the middle of nowhere where he'd brought Sam yesterday. Sam was alone.

He watched as his two friends dragged the dazed younger boy back over to him and then they moved further around the side of the building. Just in case. He didn't want to be interrupted as he taught the little shit a lesson he'd never forget.

"Hi Sammy." Eric said when he finally turned to the younger boy, punching Sam in the gut so hard he doubled over and probably would have fallen to the ground if Adam and Cody weren't still holding him upright. Eric grinned and punched him again. He wondered if he could make the little shit puke all over himself. That would be a nice way for him to go to class today.

"I warned you, didn't I, Sam? Not to piss me off." Eric talked almost casually, punching Sam again hard in the stomach. "Maybe you're not as smart as I thought you were."

Eric motioned and Adam and Cody let the younger boy finally drop on the ground. Eric wasted no time kicking Sam in the ribs.

"All you had to do was suck a little cock, roll over like a good little whore, and everything would have been fine. You might have even liked it once you got used to it." Eric continued, walking around Sam, kicking the younger boy in the kidneys next.

"You know what's going to happen now, Sammy? No more parties. No more special treatment. Everyone's going to know you're not my little bitch anymore, and that makes you free game. You think what I wanted was bad?" Eric kicked Sam again, and then stood back. That was enough. For now. Didn't want to damage him up too badly that Sam had to go home or to the infirmary. The younger boy had a lesson to learn.

"We're going to 'talk' again, Sam. And next time, maybe you'll be singing a different tune. Let's go." Eric told the other two boys, walking away from Sam and leaving him lying on the ground. Adam kicked the younger boy one last time in retaliation for Sam's earlier crotch blow and Cody spat on the younger boy as they passed.

Sam knew he was fucked. Probably literally. There was no one around to help him, no one to come to his defense. Whatever Eric wanted to do to him, with Cody and Adam holding him, he could. There would be no tricking the senior this time.

When Eric hit him, he could have believed it if someone said Eric’s fist went clear through him and to the other side. Trying to draw in a breath was a struggle. The second punch was almost worse and he was really glad he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. The third punch was just as hard as the first two and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to stand up straight again. He would have made some smart-ass response if he could have drawn enough breath to say anything. He suddenly found himself on the ground and almost immediately a foot was in his ribs. He curled into the fetal position trying to protect his stomach and ribs only to arch back when that same foot nailed him in the kidneys.

“I’ll never be your whore,” Sam wheezed. He didn’t know what Eric meant when he said Sam was free game. Did other boys here…? Maybe no one else would have an interest in him, not that way. He gasped at the next kick. If he had been singled out as Eric’s there wasn’t a chance in hell others weren’t going to come after him now that Eric had hung him out like so much bait. “I’ll never come back to you,” Sam whispered.

After being kicked and spat upon, he laid there for a few minutes, waiting, but the seniors were gone. He pushed himself to his feet, but he was right, straightening up was almost impossible. He slowly made his way out front to the empty courtyard, picked up his dropped bookbag and headed into the bathroom. He was scraped up again, his knee torn out of his uniform, a beaut of a bruise on the other side of his face from the one Eric had given him the night before and, lifting up his shirt, he saw his abdomen was ringed with slowly purpling bruises. Blood dripped from his nose and onto his shirt. Grimacing, he changed over to his other older clothes and made his way to his locker. He hung his bookbag inside and pulled out a notebook and pen, emptying it of all notes so if it were snatched or lost, he wouldn’t lose everything. Like he had by leaving his bookbag in the Ferrari. He limped to his homeroom and sat down at his desk. Normally he would be reading a book, or doing school work, or whatever. He didn’t want to do anything today. He hurt too damned much. Instead he just stared out the window, watching as the boys and teachers slowly began to trickle in for the day’s lessons.

Dean had woken up with a hangover. Ok, so he'd had more than a couple of beers at the bar he stopped at on the way home last night. But he'd pulled in a good three hundred bucks from hustling the other drunks at pool and darts so it had been a fairly productive night in his opinion. A hell of a lot more productive than playing chauffeur and bodyguard had been.

Bobby hadn't been all that pleased however when he came home after two in the morning on a school night smelling like cigarettes and booze. The older man had verbally ripped him a new asshole and then sent him to bed. He knew he'd disappointed Bobby, and knowing that hurt him a lot worse than anything else the older man could say.

First thing he did when he woke up was run to the bathroom and puke. He knew there was no way that Bobby was going to let him stay home from school today, since he'd made himself sick, and now he was paying the price. At least the older man had taken pity on him and left out the bottle of Aspirin and a full pot of coffee for him when Dean had finally dragged his zombie ass downstairs.

Dean sighed as he grabbed his history book off the kitchen shelf and shoved it into his backpack. He never did finish his homework. Oh well.

*

The hours crawled by much the same as they did every day, only today they seemed to crawl even slower just because he was hung over. Life was just special like that. Dean hadn't so much as thought about Sam all day. He had his own problems to deal with, after all. He hadn't even seen the boy and if Sam was smart, he wouldn't have even come into school today.

Unfortunately Dean passed by Eric and his friends in the hallway around lunch time and the bastards looked way too pleased with themselves. A somewhat sick feeling settled into his stomach that had nothing to do with the queasiness he'd woken up with this morning, but he shoved it away. Sam wasn't his problem.

Just as with the first day, the entire school seemed to know by the end of first period that Sam was no longer ‘protected.’ He’d had half a dozen guys press themselves up against him from behind, whispering filth into his ears, promising to do things to him that almost made him ill. A couple had tried the smoother, gentler methods, not so different from Eric’s that first day he had arrived at the school. Friendliness, promises of parties and showing him the ropes, but the lascivious looks they gave him told him what those ropes were. Between third period and lunch four seniors jumped him in the bathroom. They rubbed against him, ran their hands all over him, and argued over who had the most right to him. When he tried to slip away, one of them punched him across the jaw, splitting open his lip and knocking his head into the mirror, the glass spider webbing from the blow. He collapsed to the hard linoleum floor. As they left they laughed and promised they would make a decision soon as to who got first dibs on him, as to who got to fuck his pretty little tight ass.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position after they were gone. His head hurt but he was pretty certain he hadn't gotten a concussion out of it. He did pull a few shards of glass from the bleeding wound though. So this is what Eric had been 'protecting' him from? He sure as hell didn't buy all the seniors were hot to get their dick into another guy. They were all rich and he had seen the sorts of girls they had available to them. No, he didn't believe it. Eric had to be behind it. Scare him, make him think he was going to get gang raped or something. Still, there might be a handful of guys looking for that thrill of domination over a younger boy. Enough that Sam might just end up having one of them do more than make noises and threats, and he had no idea which of the seniors, or juniors for that matter, might just decide Sam was ripe for the picking. A freshman walked in just then and paused, seeing Sam sitting on the floor, bleeding. The young man glanced around a little nervously but once seeing the bathroom was empty, retrieved a paper towel that he wetted and handed to Sam.

"You're Sam Colt. Got dumped by Lancaster."

Sam huffed as he wiped at the blood on his lip then moved the towel to his bleeding skull. "Seems like everyone knows me. And if they don't, they want to."

"I'm Randall," the young boy said and offered Sam a hand up. "The good looking ones, they get staked right away. Eric's last…friend, took a tumble down the bleachers, broke his leg up bad. He never came back to school. If you catch Eric's eye, like you did…you're boned."

"Are the, all the seniors and juniors, like this? Don't they have fucking girlfriends or something?" Sam asked, accepting the boy's hand and immediately regretting it as his bruised gut protested. His breath hissed but he made it to his feet, leaning on the sink as he turned to look at himself in the mirror. Jesus he looked a mess. Fat lip, black eye, bloodied.

"No, but enough. And most of them are the richest ones so they pretty much rule. If you want to hang with them, then you do what they do or do as they say. I'm lucky. My friend's brother goes here and even though he isn't sponsoring me, the others leave me alone. You never really know who they're going to go after. I've heard if you're a virgin, they like it better. You've got it twice as bad. You're not rich and Eric likes you…that way."

"Sponsoring? What's that?" Sam asked, get more towels and wiping away the blood that trickled down the side of his face. Head wounds always bled like a mother. He put pressure on it, wincing.

Randall shifted uncomfortably. "It mean's…being someone's…bitch. You got a sponsor, the others will leave you alone. Usually. So…how come Eric stopped sponsoring you?"

Sam met the boy's gaze in the mirror. "'Cause I wouldn't suck him off. That limping he's doing? Slammed the fucking car door on his leg. Was really trying to break it. Too bad I didn't."

Randall's eyes widened. "No wonder he's pissed. An if you had broken his leg you'd probably be in juvi hall, up on charges of assault, and the basketball team would be even more pissed at you than they are now."

"Swell," Sam sighed. "What about the teachers? They actually put up with this?"

Randall shrugged. "Some might care, but no one crosses the Lancasters. Until you get a sponsor, go back to Eric, or leave the school…this is probably what it's going to be like for you. You're unprotected. Fresh meat."

"I won't be someone's bitch!" Sam snarled.

Randall backed away and said softly. "Yeah. You will. Or you'll end up having an accident. A bad one."

Randall turned to the urinal and took care of what he had come in for. Sam tossed the bloodied towel into the trash, picked up his half mangled notebook with a grunt, and left. As he crossed the campus for the lunchroom a junior smirked at him and puckered his lips in a kiss. Another one pumped his finger back and forth through the circle he made with his other fingers. A third stuck his finger in his mouth, wrapped his lips around it and slowly pulled it out, staring at Sam.

Sam tried to ignore them as he strode quickly to the lunch room before someone else accosted him.

Dean grumbled under his breath as he made his way to his car in the parking lot. He’d gotten detention today because he hadn’t had his history homework to turn in. Had to write lines... he couldn’t believe they still made you do that crap... all through lunch period and then wash down all the black boards in the classroom before the next class came in. Sure, he could have told the teacher to go fuck himself, he’d wanted to, but if he did he knew that would have only made things worse. The lunch detention would have turned to after school detention, and he couldn’t waste time hanging around here.

Bobby needed his help to keep the salvage yard running, and Dean gladly did his part. It was hard work for a hunter to do the job and still earn a legitimate living. But Bobby made that sacrifice for him. He owed Bobby everything.

The older man had taken him in when everyone else had just passed him off to someone else. Bobby understood him, believed him when no one else did. Believed him when he told the hunter about the glimpse of hell he’d seen when he was three years old. The night he’d lost his whole family. When he looked into his little brother’s nursery that night, saw his mommy on the ceiling, his daddy running back into the flames while Dean had carried his little brother outside...

Dean swallowed hard and quickened his pace. The forbidding expression he wore sending a group of younger students scurrying out of his way in fear.

He’d lost everything that night. When the firemen and paramedics finally came, they tried to take Sam away from him. Dean hadn’t wanted to let go of his baby brother. He’d screamed and fought them, tried to run away from them. To protect his baby brother like his daddy had told him to. Sam had started crying, but they had taken him away anyway. Sam had cried louder after they took him away, and they’d sedated the frantic three year old.

Sometimes he still woke up from nightmares of that night. His mother’s screams as she died mingling with the sounds of his baby brother’s cries as they took him away...

Dean got in his car and slammed the door with a growl, then he mentally apologized. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, started the car, and pulled out in his usual display of burning rubber and too loud rock. Fuck, he could use a drink tonight, but he knew he wasn’t going to get one. Not after his little display last night, Bobby wouldn’t allow it. After he helped Bobby in the salvage yard, the older man would probably have him clean all the guns, either as a punishment or to keep him out of trouble, till it was time for him to go to bed. It would suck, but Dean wouldn’t complain about doing it. It needed to be done anyway.

That was when he saw Sam walking down the sidewalk leading away from the school. He hadn’t been looking for the younger boy. In fact, if he blinked, Dean probably would have missed him. But he hadn’t blinked and he recognized the other boy immediately. He also saw just how different Sam looked in just one day. The younger boy was limping, a lot more than he had been yesterday. There were also more bruises on his face than there were last night and Sam walked with his shoulders hunched like the weight of the entire fucking world was on them.

He also saw a small group of boys from their school following Sam. Talking among themselves, laughing, eyeing the younger boy up... then they started to close in on him.

An irrational stab of anger flared inside of him and Dean slammed on his brakes hard enough that they screamed in protest. A car behind him had to swerve, horn blaring, to keep from hitting him from behind, but Dean didn’t pay them any attention. The boys who’d been following Sam all stopped, staring with wide eyes and looking like they might have just shit themselves. They liked that? They were going to love this.

“Get in the car, Sam.” Dean called to the younger boy from the open window.

The day hadn't gotten any fucking better. At lunchtime two seniors joined him, one on either side. They jostled him, made jokes, whispered in his ear, and one even had the balls to reach to hi inner thigh and squeeze his cock. Hard. Sam grabbed the tray his food was on and slammed it upside the senior head so hard he knocked the young man off the bench and on his ass. The senior was ready to get on his feet and deck Sam when a teacher intervened.

When the teacher demanded what happened, fury got the better of Sam. "The sonuvabitch grabbed my cock. I guess he doesn't have a big enough one of his own."

The teacher yanked him out of the lunch room and threatened him with detention, but seeing Sam's bruised face, let him off with a warning and told Sam to get to his next class. The teacher even escorted him there and shut the door, told Sam to stay out of trouble and to just try to keep a lower profile. There was a bit of sympathy in the eyes of the teacher, but nothing else was said.

He'd gotten groped and a few more blows had been landed hard into his ribs before the day was over. When the school bell rang he was out of there like a shot. Fuck his books, fuck his homework. He wasn't coming back the next day. His dad could just deal with it. He was walking toward the distant bus stop and just hoped he could get there without anyone else messing with him. He was tired. He hurt, his knee was killing him, and he hadn't eaten since the burger from the night before. Yeah. A fucking great day. And if what Randall said was true, it was going to be like this from now on. He limped down the sidewalk, his yes on the pavement. He heard the boys behind him. Great. Probably another beat down.

He damned near jumped out of his skin when he heard the breaks and the car horn. His first thought was that it was Eric and his heart was in his throat. He stared dumbly for a moment at the black Impala. Glancing back at the gang of boys who looked scared half to death, he forced himself to be casual as he climbed in but his hands were shaking as he shut the door.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled. He winced as he bent his injured knee and hung his head. Leaning against the seat back hurt his bruises but he didn't care. He just wanted to break down and cry at this point, but he was too damned old for that.

Dean would have had to been a blind idiot not to notice the slight hesitation in Sam or the way the younger boy’s hands shook when he climbed into his car. Not to mention how slowly and carefully Sam moved and the wince of pain that the younger boy couldn’t hide. The former Dean knew was his fault, for what he’d said to Sam last night, and the older boy knew he was an asshole for it. But Sam still got in the car. Sam was still less afraid of him than he was of the other boys following him. The latter... it might not have been his fault Sam had gotten the shit kicked out of him today, but Dean knew he could have stopped it. If he’d really wanted to... and that made him feel like an even bigger asshole.

The young man gave the group of boys one last death glare that had them hurrying back in the other direction. It would have been amusing, considering the other direction was right back to school, but right now Dean didn’t really give a damn. Another car passed him on the road, blaring his horn and calling him an asshole, and Dean merely gave them the one fingered salute as Sam got settled.

“Sure.” Dean merely replied quietly to the younger boy’s offer of thanks. Turning his attention back to the road as he started driving again. He wanted to turn down the music just a little, but considering Sam’s reaction yesterday in the car when Dean had reached towards him that might be a bad idea. He wasn’t looking to freak the younger boy out any more.

“You can turn down the music if you want.” Dean said instead, giving the choice to Sam. When they reached an intersection with a stop light, Dean finally gave Sam a good once over. The younger boy didn’t look any better on a second appraisal, that much was for certain.

“Do you need to go to a hospital?” He finally asked. Dean was pretty sure that Sam didn’t, but the fucking bastards had worked the younger boy over pretty good. Sure, his face was pretty well bruised up, but the way Sam moved Dean knew they’d done a lot more than just hit Sam’s face and there was really no way for him to gauge the damage unless he took a look. Dean seriously doubted the younger boy would want to have anyone’s hands on him at this point, and certainly not his.

The music was loud, but be hardly cared. Dean wasn’t his babysitter, bodyguard or friend. He’d made that perfectly clear. It wasn’t Sam’s place to mess with the radio. He really didn’t understand why Dean even bothered to intervene except maybe t to pi$$ off Eric. He could tell Dean was looking him over. Let him look. Everyone else had. If Dean tried to touch him though, he would find out Sam could punch. There wasn’t a gang to hold him.

“You can drop me off at the bus stop. It’s only about a half hour wait and it stops about ten blocks from my house. I doubt any of the rich kids will sully themselves coming into my section of town just to harass me. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble though, I sure could use a burger from McDonalds. It’s on the way. I haven’t eaten today. I’ll buy you a burger or drink or whatever you want if you would.” Sam still didn’t look up, studying his bruised hand. One of the guys had stepped on it. Didn’t break anything but it was nicely bruised all the same. It hurt to make a fist. It hurt to write. It was his right hand, naturally.

Surely after his father saw his bruises he would let Sam return to public schools, right? He could be sick tomorrow and not go to school, but he couldn’t get away with that for long so what was the point? And he knew his dad would just tell him to defend himself, he knew how to fight, why was he taking this from the other kids. Make up with Eric and Eric would surely straighten those kids out. Sam gave a soft snort. Randall was right. He was boned.

Dean barely kept from scowling as Sam completely side stepped his question of whether or not he needed to go to the hospital. It pissed him off a little, but he supposed he deserved that. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, and Sam had had one pretty shitty day. So he let the younger boy off with only a mild glare before he turned his attention back to the rode when the light changed.

The bus stop. Yeah right. Like he was really going to leave Sam on the side of the road to catch the fucking public bus and then have him walk home. Even if the younger boy didn’t need to go to the hospital (he didn’t think Sam was stubborn enough not to admit he needed medical attention just because he was pissed off at Dean) he was hardly up to walking ten blocks. Plus he really didn’t want to take the chance of leaving Sam somewhere just so the younger boy could get jumped again.

He could hear Sam’s shallow, almost wheezing, breaths and he didn’t like it. Dean really wanted to check out Sam’s ribs. They might be cracked or broken and Sam might not even realize it. Dean almost snorted just imagining the response he’d probably receive if he asked Sam to lift up his shirt.

He could always take Sam to Bobby. The younger boy had seemed to like the older man, and Sam would probably feel a lot more comfortable with Bobby checking him over than Dean anyway. Sam could also hang out and rest at the salvage yard and Dean wouldn’t have to worry about him being home alone. It was pretty obvious Sam’s parents weren’t even home considering the younger boy was about to take the public bus home. Dean could take Sam home again once Sam’s parents were home.

“Keep your money, Sam, and I’m not dropping you off at the god damn bus stop. Besides, McDonalds burgers suck. There’s still some fries left over from last night, and I can fry you up another burger if you’re hungry. Bobby can look you over too, he used to be a medic. I can take you home when your parents get home.” He spoke as though Sam had already agreed to come home with him.

Sam looked over at the muscular senior, confused. He had seen the way people gave him room, were scared of him, and he didn't really get it, but hell, he knew he was naive. Dean was definitely abrasive and he had one very intimidating glare. Fast to anger too as Sam had seen the night before. But he could be cool like he had been the night before when they were playing pool. He guessed if someone dared go up against the Eric Lancaster and his goons, that would be frightening to people who had bowed down to Eric maybe all their lives.

Okay, so maybe Dean scared him a little bit. He hadn't the night before because if it was between Dean and Eric, he would risk the unknown to the known. But now? Taking him home? Maybe Dean wasn't any better than Eric. Dean hadn't made any moves on him and hadn't tried to seduce him with cotton candy and apple pie…but those burgers, well, they were sure good. But so was the lobster and crab and stuff Eric had taken him out for. It also didn't sound like Dean was really giving him a choice and that kind of scared him, too. No one knew where he was or who he was with. At least with Eric, they had known he was with Eric…until he had run. Right now, he was in no condition to run fast or run far. Dean wasn't bodyguard, babysitter, or friend. Was he a molester though?

"…Is your dad home?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced briefly over at Sam before turning his attention back to the road. He decided to consider it a victory that the younger boy hadn’t completely freaked out on him, demanding to be let out of the car, or anything like that. Sam was actually looking at him too, even though he was looking at him with a hell of a lot of caution now. Dean had to grudgingly admit, he kind of missed last night when Sam hadn’t.

“He should be. Unless he’s out bringing some scrap to a client.” Dean replied casually. Again, deciding not to correct Sam’s assumption that Bobby was his father. He and the younger boy weren’t exactly on get to know you terms right now anyway, and he didn’t want to take the chance that the younger boy might freak out on him. He didn’t know how the fact that he was an orphan and Bobby was his guardian might freak Sam out, but you never knew. The fact that Dean didn’t have a family had certainly been a point of ridicule when he’d first come to that fucking school, though.

Sam might have been too... busy... to have heard the rumors about him, but he knew the younger boy would eventually. The one that he’d killed his parents, burned them to death, and that he and Bobby were demon worshipers was always a nice one to hear. Dean had broken the nose of the little bastard who had yelled that to him once, but he knew it was still circulating around, and probably worse. The way even the new students shied away from him, sometimes crossing themselves, it was pretty obvious.

When they got to the salvage yard, Dean mentally cursed when he saw that the tow truck was gone which meant Bobby was out. There was no telling when the older man would be back, but Dean didn’t say anything as he pulled the car into the garage and got out. Rumsfeld ran up to him, happily wagging his tail and trying to jump on him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m home. Again. Now down you idgit.” Dean spoke to the dog that acted like a hyperactive puppy more than he should for his age, and scratched the animal’s ears. Then he reached down to grab the ball Rumsfeld had brought for him, earning him a slobbery kiss to the face, and he gave it a good throw when he straightened. Wiping off his face with the back of his hand as the dog took off after it.

“Come on.” Dean said when he finally turned his attention to Sam and led the younger boy into the house. “You can wait in the kitchen. Sit down.”

He went to fetch one of their bigger first aid kits. Sam probably wouldn’t want him to look at him, but Dean didn’t want to really leave it until Bobby got back since he had no idea when the older man would be coming home. He could be gone for minutes or hours. On his way back to the kitchen Dean opened the screen door to let Rumsfeld in, the dog following him into the kitchen and laying down in the middle of the room like he owned it. Chewing on his soggy ball and thumping his tail on the floor. Dean set the first aid kit down on the table and opened it up.

“Alright. Let me see your hand.” Dean finally said. The hand was pretty impersonal, right? Using the calmest tone of voice he could manage, usually the one Dean reserved for the people who were freaking out because some Zombie or Werewolf was after them.

Sam spotted right away that Mr. Singer wasn't home. At least, the tow truck was gone. Last night Mr. Singer had gotten home close to dark and that was a good few hours off. He didn’t say anything. What was he suppose to say? Fuck off take me home? The senior was something of a conundrum. I've beaten up Eric and put his buds in the hospital. I'm not your friend. Here let me pick the lock so you can get in. Yeah let's play pool. I live at a junk yard and that makes me trash because your dad wouldn't be impressed. Get in and let me save you from those assholes about to jump you and give you another beating, or worse. Let me take you to my place and I'll feed you dinner.

Well, shit. If Dean was going to molest him like Eric had tried, it wasn't like he was in much shape to stop him. He could have demanded the senior take him home, but his parents wouldn't be in until seven or so, depending on traffic. His mom might be in earlier, depending. Still, that meant a good couple hours by himself. And Eric had keys to his house. He shuddered at the thought. He didn't have any homework to do because he left it all at school, not like he had really paid the teachers much mind today anyhow. So was he going to sit at home cowering, baseball bat across his lap, waiting for his parents to get home?

What ever this was, it still seemed like a better option than the alternative. Again.

When Dean turned off the ignition he slowly climbed out, every part of him aching. Despite his pain he laughed to himself at the dog. He almost laughed out loud when the dog swiped a slobbery tongue across Dean's face. Dean didn't seem to mind though.
Following after the youth, he settled into the first chair. He hoped Dean's burgers were as good as his dad's. That burger had been the absolute best he had ever had.

Sam stared into the green eyes of the senior. They were veiled, any significant emotion buried. His voice was calm, almost soothing. Dean wasn't looking at him 'that way,' they way Eric had always looked at him. Sam had just thought it was friendship. Now he knew better. After meeting Dean's gaze steadily, studying him for a minute, he held out his hand.

"It's just bruised. He stepped on it. He didn't stomp on it. It's hardly even swollen," Sam said as Dean carefully examined each finger and gently probed at the bones in his hand. Sam flinched once, when Dean touched at a particularly tender spot, but otherwise just clenched his jaw against the pain.

Dean waited patiently for the younger boy to either give him his hand or tell him to go fuck off. When Sam finally held out his hand for examination, Dean didn’t say a word, he just took his time carefully examining the other boy’s knuckles and fingers. Sam was right, there was nothing broken, but some ice wouldn’t hurt to bring down the swelling and lessen the pain.

He went over to the freezer and took out a tray of ice cubes, dumped a couple into a clean towel, and brought it over to Sam.

“Use this on your hand.” Dean told the younger boy as he handed Sam the towel. It would give Sam something to do besides stare at him like Dean was going to rape him or something.

Seeing some blood on the back of Sam’s collar and in his hair, Dean decided to check the younger boy’s head next. The cut on the back of Sam’s skull didn’t need any stitches, obviously, since it wasn’t even bleeding anymore. But there was a good sized bump and he could see a few small pieces of glass still around the wound. Dean’s eyes darkened briefly and he was glad that he was behind the younger boy and Sam couldn’t see it. He reached into the first aid kit for some tweezers and picked out the remaining glass carefully then dabbed at the wound with some antibiotic cream when he was finished.

Next, Dean came around and knelt in front of Sam’s chair. He’d seen the way the younger boy was limping and wanted to check for any swelling in his knee and ankle. Dean wasn’t about to ask Sam to take off his pants though so the young man did his best to examine Sam through his clothes. Keeping his touch as professional and impersonal as possible and ignoring the way the younger boy was staring at him. Again, he didn’t feel anything out of place, and just Sam’s knee was swollen. Wrapping it wouldn’t hurt for support and helping to bring the swelling down though, so Dean grabbed one of the larger stretch bandages and did just that. It wouldn’t be as effective over the clothing like this, but Sam could put it on correctly later.

Now came the tricky part.

“I’m going to need you to lift up your shirt so I can check your ribs.” Dean finally said as casually as possible, looking up at Sam from where he knelt in front of him. He saw how Sam tensed at his suggestion and the mistrust in his eyes but Dean didn’t say anything. Keeping his expression as neutral as possible. After a long few minutes, Sam finally complied, but Dean couldn’t quite stop the frown that marred his face when he caught sight of the wicked bruising all around Sam’s stomach and chest. That had to hurt like a motherfucker.

“Alright.” He said soothingly, and reached out slowly to lay his hands on the younger boy’s ribs. He heard Sam’s sharp inhalation of breath and felt him tense, and Dean moved even slower. Carefully checking Sam’s ribs for any breaks or cracks. He didn’t feel any, and he didn’t think there was any internal bleeding or anything like that despite how bad the bruising looked, it didn’t look that bad, thank god. Dean decided he was going to wrap up Sam’s ribs anyway, since it would probably make them feel a little better even if they weren’t broken.

Grabbing the gauze and more stretch bandages, he worked quickly and efficiently, having done the same thing for himself and Bobby more times than he could count. He could tell that Sam didn’t like having his arms around him when he had to reach around his back but the younger boy didn’t protest. When he was done, Dean pulled back and stood. Grabbing the tube of antibiotic cream and placing it on the table beside Sam.

“Here, put some of that on your face.” Dean told the younger boy and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He would have done it himself, but he figured Sam had enough of his personal space being violated for one day. After that, Dean went to the fridge and got out the stuff he’d need to make Sam that promised hamburger, throwing the left over fries in the oven to heat up. They wouldn’t be as good the second day, but they were still pretty good.

It seemed like being a medic ran in the family and he couldn't help but wonder why Dean was so good at being one. Maybe he wanted to be one? Maybe he was in enough fights he had learned to be? Maybe his dad was a drunk that got in lots of fights? The possibilities were endless. He supposed it didn't matter. Dean seemed to know what he was doing. He didn't really like it when Dean was behind him, but when he saw Dean grab the tweezers he knew he hadn't gotten all the glass out. It would have been a bitch to do on his own if he wasn't able to wash it out.

He watched as Dean focused on his knee. The bandage wrap did seem to make it feel better. Kinda. It was scraped up under there and the pressure on it kind of hurt, but it still felt better in general.

He could tell Dean was very reluctant to ask him to remove his shirt. Dean looked like he expected Sam to bolt. Sam considered for a long time, but what difference did it make? If Dean was going to attack him, he was going to attack him. But he really didn't think those professional gentle hands and the young who used them had any ulterior motives. When Dean's help, he got his shirt off. Jesus that hurt.

He flinched and tensed at Dean's first touch. It hurt and well, there was that simmering lack of trust. Dean's poked and prodded and probed until Sam had just about had enough. Dean turned and grabbed the gauze and began wrapping it tightly around his ribs. He inhaled sharply the first couple times Dean pressed up against him to get the bandages around him. Absurdly, all he could think was that Dean smelled kinda nice and he wondered what cologne he wore.

Dean was finally done after handing him the antibiotic cream and he was glad Dean at least let him do that himself. Sam twisted slowly and watched as Dean got a burger started for him.

"Could I get some water or something?" Sam asked then added, "It's good to know you're at least willing to be my medic." He smirked at Dean to ease the sting of his words. "Oh, and my cook." Letting his gaze wander around the kitchen he asked, "Your family take in whipped strays often, or am I just more pathetic than most?"

“Sure.” Dean answered, leaving the pan on the stove to heat up while he got a glass and went to the fridge for the pitcher of cold water they kept in there. He snorted softly at Sam’s comment about him agreeing to be his medic and cook. He almost wanted to tell the younger boy not to get used to it, but Dean didn’t really want to break the shaky truce they seemed to have found. He brought the glass over to Sam and set it on the table next to the younger boy and nodded towards the still open first aid kit.

“There are a few different painkillers in there if you want something. Feel free to pick your poison. Though I wouldn’t take anything too strong.” He told the younger boy before he returned to the counter. Slapping the hamburger into more or less a patty and throwing it onto the heated pan. He opened the counter above the stove and got out the salt, pepper, and other stuff he usually threw on his burgers.

“There’s also tea, soda, and beer in the fridge if you want something else later. Help yourself.” Dean said over his shoulder while he cooked, and then after a moment, put together another hamburger patty for himself. He was hungry too damn it.

Sam’s question made him pause for a second however. His mind transporting him back not so many years ago, just after Bobby had managed to coax him out of the wrecked car in his lot Dean had taken shelter in from the snow. When he’d been sitting in that chair much like Sam was now, shivering even under the warm blanket the older man had wrapped around his shoulders. After Bobby had finished tending to his various cuts, scrapes, and bruises the older man had made him some instant cocoa and then made him dinner. The first thing he’d put into his stomach in days...

“Sometimes.” Dean finally answered and went back to what he was doing. “And you’re not pathetic.”

"Yeah, I am. Pathetically naïve and stupid."

Sam poked through the first aid kit. Odd if his dad used to be a medic that so many things had far distant expiration dates. And bags of saline? And IV stuff? And yeah, all sorts of pain killers. Sam opted for a low prescription does of Tylenol. He figured it was that, or pop about six of the over the counter stuff which was also in there. He frowned a little when he read the name on the 'script. Dean Winchester. Not Singer.

What did that mean? Maybe Dean's parents were divorced and he had been adopted by his stepfather, but came to live with Bobby, his real father. Maybe his stepfather was paying for school? Though really, he thought the car restoration business probably paid pretty good. He didn't particularly like the alternative of why Dean might have a different name from Bobby. Maybe Bobby and him…were lovers? That seemed kind of far-fetched, Dean was a good looking guy and Bobby was, well okay he supposed, but a lot older than Dean. Maybe the two men ran more than restored cars. Maybe they had other side businesses. Drugs or weapons or…porn.

Sam had no idea if he was letting his imagination run away with him, or if he should be the one running. Dean had said he was going to take him home once Sam's parents got in.

"Going to go to the restroom," Sam said and gingerly got to his feet, setting the ice pack aside. He seemed to hurt worse and worse as time passed. Not that he was really surprised. He limped his way to the bathroom that he had taken a shower in—just the night before? Thinking back, he couldn't believe he had actually done that. That was stupid and brazen of him. Hell, he was ready to use the toothbrush sitting there and scrub out his mouth the night before.

As he passed through the living room, he let his eyes slide over the books that were stacked everywhere, practically falling off shelves and in tall haphazard piles on the desk. He also saw a knife on the desk. It was too shiny to be steel, it just didn't have the right sheen. It looked like maybe it was silver. Maybe they were new age witches? Which would make the knife an athame if he remembered right. He noticed discreet symbols drawn here and there on the walls, and glancing over at the doorway, saw a white crystalline substance in a thin line at the threshold.

He made it to the bathroom finally and took care of business, washing his hands afterwards and looking at himself in the mirror. His parents were going to freak when they saw it.

As he limped back toward the kitchen he couldn't help but be drawn to peruse some of the old books on one of the bookshelves. Demonology. Witches. Werewolves. Bloody-bones. A variety of ghost books and local histories. Religious books of all natures, running from Catholic to Buddhism to anything you could thing of. Okay, Dean and his dad(?) were definitely into the occult. But the age of a lot of these books…Sam just didn't know what to make of it. He limped around Rumsfeld and returned to his seat. He closed up the first aid kit and moved it aside and drank from his water as he watched Dean.

"Your Dad has an impressive library," Sam finally said.

Dean decided not to say anything to the younger boy’s words. Even though he agreed that Sam was naïve he certainly didn’t think that the younger boy was stupid. But he supposed Sam wouldn’t be interested in hearing something like that from him. It wasn’t like they were on sharing and caring terms after all.

So Dean simply concentrated on finishing up the burgers. That was nice and simple. He nodded slightly when Sam said he was going to the bathroom.

While Sam was gone Dean finished frying up the burgers and throwing a couple of slices of cheese on them. Since Sam had liked so much the way the burgers had been made last night he fixed them up on the buns exactly the same way, onions and all.

When Sam came back, he brought the plates over to the table and set one of them down in front of the younger boy. He frowned a little when Sam mentioned his ‘dads’ library. No, Sam wasn’t stupid, and it was too much to hope that the younger boy wouldn’t have noticed eventually all the books that Bobby owned. Not to mention their subjects.

He went back to the oven for the fries.

“Yeah, he collects them. Some of them are pretty old and expensive.” Dean left the implied ‘so hands off’ unsaid as he dumped the heated up fries onto another plate and brought it over to the table as well. Dropping into the chair across from Sam and started in on his burger.

Sam had to bite back the comment that based on all the notes and journals he saw, Dean's dad used them, too. He began to eat the burger, even though with his bruised up face it kind of hurt. The burger was just as good as the night before though, maybe even better.

He couldn't hold back the small snort of laughter. "D'you realize the last time I ate, it was the burger here last night? I think this one's even better, but then I'm even hungrier than I was last night."

The salt burned in the split in his lip, but he didn't really care. He tried to eat with some manners, but it was all so good and he hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he started eating. He wanted to just scarf it all down. After pouring a puddle of ketchup onto his plate, he slid half the French fries onto his plate and dipped one in the ketchup. He set the plate back within Dean's reach.

He had a lot of questions he wanted to ask Dean but he was afraid he might piss off the young man and he honestly didn't want to have to walk or call his parents. Or discover one of his less savory imaginings about Dean was correct.

"So what college are you wanting to go to?" Sam finally asked, deciding that was probably a fairly safe subject. He wouldn't be at Chalmers for kicks so he must have designs on a good college.

Dean hadn’t really realized it until Sam mentioned it that last night’s burger was the last thing he had eaten as well. Between waking up with the hangover this morning and missing lunch because of damned detention, he hadn’t eaten all day either. Well, he was glad that Sam liked the burger anyway, even if he implied he only liked it because he was probably starving right now.

He ate with a lot less care than Sam did. Taking large bites of his burger not really caring when he got a bit of ketchup and grease smeared on the corner of his mouth, merely licking it away rather than grabbing a napkin. By contrast, the younger boy was very neat. He wondered if Sam was always this careful when he ate or if it was because Sam probably couldn’t open his mouth as wide because of his bruised face. Probably both.

Dean snatched up a few of the warm fries and stuffed them into his mouth. They were still pretty damned good, even though they’d been better last night. He could feel eyes on him and heard a soft whimper from the floor and Dean turned his attention to Rumsfeld. The dog immediately started thumping his tail against the floor and looking at him hopefully. Dean tossed the dog a fry that the animal easily caught mid air.

Sam’s question surprised him a little and he looked at the younger boy with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head. College? He wouldn’t even be in school now if Bobby and the state didn’t say he had to be.

“I’m not.”

Dean was definitely an 'enthusiastic' eater. When Dean tossed the fry into the air, Sam almost laughed at the dog. With the way the dog caught it, it must be a common thing between Dean and Rumsfeld. He had always wanted a pet, but his mom didn't like dogs or cats and his dad was allergic anyhow.

He was surprised, hell, shocked when Dean said he wasn't going to college. Why would you go to a prep school if you weren't preparing for college? And Chalmers was one of the very best. Graduates went to Harvard and MIT and Stanford and West Point. Chalmers could make it easier to get into any selective college. The more impressive the college, the more important it was to have a prep school like Chalmers on your records. The seniors did learn things like business and economics and investing and such. Maybe it was to help Dean take over the family business. Or maybe Mr. Singer was one of those closet millionaires and wanted Dean to be able to end one himself. Maybe it was a family thing that he was expected to attend Chalmers.

He took another bite of his hamburger as he contemplated Dean's answer. "College doesn't matter so long as you love what you're doing," he said firmly and meant it. "I want to be a lawyer so I need to go to college. I know Chalmers has some good business classes, college level stuff. Are you going there because of that? Are you sticking with your dad's business and doing car restoration?" It sort of made sense. Dean could get some decent business background and not have to mess with all intro classes college made you go through if you weren't ever really going to use them. Still, it seemed a pretty pricey route to go.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam as the younger boy fired off one question after another at him. Apparently Sam was feeling comfortable enough around him again to babble, and Dean was beginning to wonder whether or not that was a good thing.

He wasn’t all that surprised when the younger boy admitted he wanted to become a lawyer. He certainly had the talking and asking tons of meaningless questions part of that down.

Dean snorted softly when Sam asked him if he were going there to take over Bobby’s ‘business’ one day. The family business… he supposed that wasn’t so far from the truth, though he certainly wasn’t going to that god damned school for that.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Sam. This is a salvage yard. The scrap out in the yard is useful for some restoration, but that’s hardly our main income flow. We recycle what we can, and sell the rest for scrap. That’s pretty much it. Plain and simple. I’ve been doing it since I was fourteen. It’s hardly brain science.” The young man said, popping the last of the cheeseburger into his mouth and standing. He brought his plate to the sink and stacked it there with the others. He’d have to wash them later. Then he grabbed a towel and wiped off his face.

“I’ve got to get to work. There’s a couch and TV in the living room, though we don’t get cable. You can lay down in there if you want. Just don’t touch anything.” He told the younger boy, then went to his room to change clothes and went outside. He whistled for Rumsfeld on the way out and the dog got up and followed him into the yard.

Sam was just finishing when Dean left in his 'work' clothes, grimy jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel. The dog grabbed the ball and carried it with him, his tail held high. San would have offered to help, but he knew he would be more of a hindrance than anything. The least he could do was the dishes though, so he ran the water, put the condiments back in the fridge, and washed the dishes and wiped down the stove and table. His hand was feeling better at least and the Tylenol seemed to have helped a lot.

There were still a few hours left before his parents would be home so he wandered into the den. He looked at the couch and TV, but he wasn't really in the mood for listening to drabble. Since Dean was outside, he decided to explore the house, which he knew he probably shouldn't do, but honestly he wanted to put his mind at ease about some of his contemplations about Dean and Bobby.

Beside the bathroom was a utility room with a washer and dryer. There was another room off the den, and it was stuffed with more books, papers, maps, and newspaper articles. He found the door leading to the basement and after chewing on his lips a minute, decided that would be a pretty likely place for 'bad' things if there were any.

His knee wasn't really happy, but he hopped down the stairs. It was a finished basement, though only in the sense it had a concrete floor and the stone walls were painted a pale yellow, or a white that had yellowed with age, he wasn't sure. The basement was big, running underneath the whole house. Down there he found some beautiful black boxes inlaid with silver designs. He found the raw lumber and piles of silver coils and a couple gold coils of wire. Bags of salt were stacked against one wall, odd since there was no water softener around. The furnace and water heater were there as were several workshop type machines. He found some disassembled guns and shotgun shells and molds for making bullets. A handful of silver bullets were scattered on the work bench. There were some knives, swords, and even some explosives. He saw a hallway that led down more stairs. He hurried down them and found what was surely a bomb shelter, though there were drawings on the floor, including a pentagram at the threshold and a white substance on the walls that looked like rust stained iron. He hoped it was rust and not dried blood. Looking up, a fan spun slowly, a pentagram for its grill. Okay, this he did not like. He did not like it all. It could all too easily be a cell. He hurried back up both sets of stairs and to the window of the back door. He could see Dean in the distance, sorting through stacks of junk.

He went up the stairs leading to the second story. There were three rooms and a hall closet. One room was obviously used for storage. One was likely Bobby's room, the picture of a pretty dark haired woman at the bedside. The last room was obviously Dean's. He wouldn't want a stranger going into his room so he just stood at the door. The bed was made, which sort of surprised him. On the walls were a couple posters of some rock bands and classic cars, a stereo system that looked a little old but functional, a desk and chair, a trunk at the foot of his bed, and that was about it. On the desk was a frame with two pictures, looking like they had come from yearbooks. He tread quickly over to them. Mary Campbell and John Winchester. So Winchester was Dean's last name. He hurried back downstairs before his skulking was discovered.

By this time, his knee was really hurting. That bomb shelter with the pentagrams downstairs, that had unnerved him. Not to mention all the weapons and tools in the basement. He appraised the books and their subject matter with a new eye. Looking over the desk, there were all sorts of notes and newspaper articles about deaths of all sorts. Burnings, maulings, missing people, serial killings, all sorts of things, even haunted houses. Okay, Sam was officially freaking out at this point. He was beginning to think Eric might be the lesser of the two evils. Eric just wanted to fuck him. Dean and Bobby? He wasn't sure, but wondered if they were behind any of the deaths, keeping a macabre record of them. With all the books of religion and demons and things that went bump in the night…no, he didn't want to know any more. He also didn't want to know what would happen to him if the men found out he had checked out the house. Including the basement. He got himself some water and a bag of ice for his knee, then went to sit on the glider on the front porch. He couldn't see Dean from there but he didn't care. He just wanted out of that house. He could get Dean to take him home in an hour. At least, he hoped Dean would still take him home. He really didn't want to see that bomb shelter or cell or whatever it was, again.

As Dean worked he really didn’t think about the other boy who was in his home, he just went about his daily tasks as normal. Sorting out the usable parts from a few junked cars that had come in this week and noting which ones would be good for salvage and which would go straight into the scrap piles to be crushed.

A few clients came by and he helped them find some parts they needed out in the yard. He talked with one of them for a long time about one of the restorations he was doing and he told the man he would gladly do some work for him once he completed one of his previous projects. Another client bought the frame for an old mustang and Dean arranged to have it delivered tomorrow to the man’s house. All in all it was a pretty decent day and he figured Bobby would be pleased.

After a couple of hours, Dean took a break and threw the ball for Rumsfeld for a little while. He was a little surprised when he glanced back at the house that he saw Sam sitting out on the porch, but he simply shrugged to himself and went back to work.

He spent another hour or so under the hood of one of his restorations, putting the finishing touches on the engine and when he was done he grabbed the keys and went to sit in the driver’s seat. She turned over perfectly and purred like a dream. Dean smiled, pleased with himself and revved the engine a few times before shutting her off again.

Dean heard Rumsfeld bark and he looked up to see Bobby’s tow truck pulling in down the gravel driveway. He checked his watch and decided he’d ask Sam if he was ready to go home now, it was getting late and one of his parents were surely home by now.

“Hey, Bobby!” Dean called to the older man in greeting as he got out of the car and wiped his hands off on a grease stained towel and started putting his tools away.

It took about an hour for Sam to calm down from letting his mind go places he didn't want it to go. Dean had been nothing but considerate and he had been fed twice by the two now. Dean could have just driven on by and let him get beat up again. So if they wanted to do stuff late at night praying to Beelzebub or whatever, it was none of his business. Maybe that bomb shelter was their church or something. He really didn't think they were serial killers, but if they were, well they didn't seem to be doing it around here. He'd simply take their help at face value, but he was definitely going to start asking around school to find out more about Dean Winchester.

Forcing himself to put those thoughts aside he decided it was kind of nice out here. The sounds of traffic were a little distant, but not so much so to make you feel all alone. There were some nice trees around the place and birds flitted from branch to branch and a squirrel chattered now and again. That comforted him in an odd way. Furry critters and birds just seemed out of place if the men were the spawn of hell or something. Sam kind of giggled at that. Dean, in his bad ass black Impala, spending the nights terrorizing the roads, eyes glowing all red, looking for retribution. Maybe he would find Eric in his pretty Ferrari and flatten him into a road pancake.

Sam went in for water once more and took some more Tylenol. He really should call his parents and tell them where he was, but he was a little pissed at them. When they saw the condition he was in it was pretty unlikely, they were going to rip him a new asshole for not calling.

Time melted away as he sat on the porch and let his mind wander. Lost in thought he was a little startled when he heard a car start and looked over to see Dean in the car he had been restoring. The engine purred like a happy cat getting its ears scratched. At the same time he saw Bobby's tow truck coming up the drive. He guessed since Dean started up the car he was done and Sam could ask him to take him home now.

Bobby pulled the tow truck to a stop in front of the porch. He got one look at the kid from the night before and scowled. The kid looked like he'd gotten into a fight at school. He glanced toward his ward. Dean must have stepped in. Dean was a good kid, really he was, just a little withdrawn and antisocial. He was pleased that Dean had apparently stopped to help Sam.

"What happened to you, kid? Run into a wall?" Bobby asked.

Sam tried to smile but it hurt too much. "Mostly fists. One wall. They were getting ready to jump me again as I walked to the bus stop, but Dean picked me up and brought me here. I hope that's okay."

"Well of course it's okay! This all because of yesterday? Because of that…'hazing prank,'" he asked, making it perfectly clear he knew it wasn't. He hadn't had a chance to ask Dean about it because Dean had come in late and then got up late with his hang over.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"You want to talk about it?" Bobby asked, sitting down on the glider next to the young man.

Sam shrugged and immediately regretted it. "I pissed off a senior, a guy named Eric Lancaster. He'd been sort of looking out for me. Now he's not. Simple as that. Some of the guys were going to pound on me again when I was walking to the bus stop after school. Dean picked me up and brought me here cause he said you used to be a medic. You weren't here so he patched me up and fed me a burger. I've pretty much been sitting out here on the porch since then while Dean worked."

Bobby scowled when Sam mentioned Lancaster. Not a person to piss off. "If you keep having trouble, you call me. I've got a little sway at that school. Might be able to help. No promises, but I might."

"Is that…is that how you can afford to send Dean there?"

Bobby chuckled. "Something like that. I know it's not easy on him there but he may need that someday and it'll certainly help him get a job if what he wants to do doesn't pan out."

"Restoring old cars?"

Bobby gave a small smile and clapped the boy on the knee. "More or less. Well, let's get you on home. You're probably sick to death of staring at this junk yard."

"It's kinda nice, actually," Sam admitted. "But yeah, my parents will start worrying soon if I don't show up soon." Bobby seemed so down to earth, Sam almost felt guilty for his earlier thoughts. There was surely a better explanation, but he wasn't about to ask for clarification of the bomb shelter and books and newspaper articles. He gave Dean a small nod when the young man approached. "Is it all right if you take me home now? Oh, I did up the dishes since you cooked. I didn't know where they went so I just left them in the rack to dry."

Dean finished putting his tools away and made his way to the front porch where Bobby was sitting down on the glider with Sam. It was pretty obvious they were talking, though what about, Dean could only guess. Looked like Sam was pretty comfortable around Bobby too, which didn’t really surprise Dean one bit. After all, when Bobby took him in the older man had been the one person to make him feel genuinely… safe… for the first time in his life.

“Sure.” He told Sam when the younger boy asked if he’d drive him home now, though Dean was more than a bit surprised when Sam said he’d done the dishes in the kitchen sink. He certainly hadn’t expected anything of the sort and it probably couldn’t have been comfortable for the younger boy standing at the sink with his hurt knee and washing dishes with his bruised up hand.

He really had no idea why Sam had felt the need to do that. Did the younger boy think of it as some kind of payment for picking him up and feeding him?

“You didn’t have to do that.” Dean finally said as he walked up the porch steps and into the house. “Lemme just grab my keys.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed his keys off the counter, shaking his head a little at the stack of dishes drying on the rack, before returning outside. “Let’s go.”

A tiny part of Sam was relieved when Dean said he would take Sam home. He was surely letting his imagination get the best of him earlier. Both men really seemed nice, even if Dean was kind of brusque. Of course, Eric had seemed cool as hell until yesterday. Sam sat aside the bag of ice and pushed himself to his feet. His breath hissed as he put weight on his knee. He would soak it tonight. Really, he suspected it was just badly bruised. Stairs killed it, but otherwise, once he started walking, the knee seemed to loosen up.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Singer," Sam said.

"It's Bobby. Yer making me feel old calling me Mr. Singer. That was my daddy, not me. Yer welcome to stop by anytime you get a hankering, Sam."

"Thank you, sir, uh Bobby," Sam looked a little self-conscious calling him by his first name.

He hopped down the stairs then limped toward the garage, following after Dean. He settled into the Impala's passenger seat. He didn't fasten his seat belt, but he also didn't plaster himself upside the door. When Dean started the car and the radio was blaring, Sam winced and turned it down just a little. The senior had offered that Sam could turn it down if he wanted to. He didn't turn it down as far as he would have liked, but enough that he could talk to Dean without shouting. Dean didn't really seem to be one for small talk. Sam felt a little awkward, sitting there and not talking but any topic that came to mind was either about school or wondering about why Dean's last name wasn't Singer. He decided it might be best just to stay quiet, though as they got closer to his house Sam did ask, "Do you remember how to get there okay?"

Dean was glad that the younger boy seemed a lot more at ease this time when he got into his car. At least he didn’t plaster himself up against the door like he was about to jump out at any moment. Though that might only have to do with the fact he was taking Sam home now, rather than the other boy feeling more at ease around him. Who knew?

Apparently Sam felt at ease enough to turn down his music, something Dean normally would have had a few choice words about. But considering he had given Sam permission before, he couldn’t really complain now. Well, he supposed he could, but he wouldn’t.

He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not Sam didn’t say anything to him after turning down his radio. The way the younger boy liked to babble on and ask questions, he’d been kind of expecting it. But Sam stayed quiet. Only asking him if he remembered the way back to his house.

“I remember.” He told Sam, and then they were both silent the rest of the way to the younger boy’s home. When they finally got there, Dean’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel and his eyes narrowed when he saw the red Ferrari parked in Sam’s driveway.

Paling, Sam inhaled sharply when he saw Eric was at his house, which of course only hurt his ribs. Fuck. He should have called his parents. Odds were good that they called Eric when Sam wasn't home when they got home. It was logical. Eric and Sam had been 'best friends' since he had started at the school and they had been hanging out together since practically day one. He hadn't told his father what had really happened, only that Eric had wanted him to do something he didn't want to and that Eric hit him. His father told him to patch things up. Yeah, right. Who knew what lies Eric had told them at this point. Besides, his father had made it perfectly clear he expected Sam to do whatever it took to get back on Eric's good side. Then again, wait until he saw the condition he was in thanks to Eric and his friends.

So now what the hell was he supposed to do?

He glanced over at Dean and saw Dean wasn't any happier about Eric being there than he was. But Dean hated Eric, so he might react that way any time he saw the Ferrari.

"Thanks for helping me today," Sam said quietly when Dean pulled the car up to his house. "If I can ever do anything for you, just ask. See you around."

Sam opened up the car door, locked it, and shut it, limping up toward the front door of his house.

Dean looked over at Sam when he heard the younger boy’s sharp inhalation. The other boy had gone about as white as a sheet, which of course only made the bruises on his face more prominent. He wondered how many of those bruises and cuts Eric himself had given Sam and how many had been given on Eric’s orders.

As he pulled his car up to the curb in front of the younger boy’s house he couldn’t help but marvel at the fucking nerve the bastard had showing up at Sam’s house like this. What lies had the little fucker already been spinning for Sam’s parents to explain the younger boy’s condition? Lies that Sam’s parents would probably be all too eager to believe. Just like the teachers at school turned a blind eye when their pockets were being stuffed with hundred dollar bills…

When Dean glanced over at Sam again as the younger boy was getting out of the car, Sam looked like he was walking to the gallows instead of his house. His home where he should have been safe. Hell, he’d been safer back at the junk yard with him and Bobby.

Dean wasn’t sure what made him get out of the car instead of just driving away. It really wasn’t his problem, and Sam might not even want him to get any further involved. But then again it hadn’t been his problem either when he’d seen Sam on the sidewalk and stopped his car. But he still had. As Dean fell into step beside the younger boy he decided if Sam wanted him gone, then he could say so and Dean would leave. Until then, he wasn’t leaving until Eric was gone.

Sam was shocked to hear the growling Impala turn silent and the taller senior join him on the walk to the doorway. He glanced up at Dean, unsure if it was a good idea or a bad idea that he was coming along. He had to admit he felt a little less like he was walking into enemy territory all by himself.

The door was unlocked and he pushed it open. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!" he called out.

"Samuel!" his father yelled, coming to the doorway that led from the small foyer into the living room. "Where have you been? My God, what happened to you?"

"Dad, you remember Dean from last night. I was in a couple fights at school to today. He kept me from getting jumped as I was walking to the bus stop. I went to his house and he patched me up. I'm sorry I didn't call. I lost track of time, kinda dozed off. Dean didn't realize I didn't call you. When Dean finished working on the car he's restoring, he came and got me. I should have called you then, but it was only fifteen minutes or so of a drive and I just wanted to get home."

His father motioned both Sam and Dean into the living room. Eric sat on the couch beside Sam's mother, drinking a coke. "What were you fighting about?" Jim asked. His eyes darted to the tall youth behind his son, not quite sure what to make of Dean being with Sam again, and Sam again being hurt.

Keiko hurried to stand by her husband, taking in her son's bruised face, bruised hand, and wrapped knee. "When you weren't home, we called Eric, thinking you were with him. You've had us worried half to death and Eric's had all his friends out looking for you."

"I'll bet he has," Sam said, keeping his voice level. "Eric, I left my book bag in your car yesterday. Would you mind getting it from behind the seat where I left it before… we had our disagreement." Sam wasn't sure he would have been able to keep so calm if Dean wasn't standing there behind him.

Since Sam didn’t tell him to get lost, Dean followed the younger boy into his house. He stood close to Sam in the hallway, though not so close that he looked like he was crowding him or anything. Not that he thought Eric would be dumb enough to try anything with Sam’s parents here. But that didn’t mean the other senior might not try to intimidate Sam, however subtly, into making the younger boy do what he wanted.

When Sam’s father came out of the living room area and took one look at his Son, Dean half expected the older man to immediately blame him for Sam’s appearance. He kept his expression neutral when Sam’s father’s gaze turned to him, and while there was confusion Dean didn’t see any accusation in the older man’s eyes. Yet anyway.

He followed Sam into the living room, again, standing close to Sam. Dean narrowed his eyes slightly at Eric sitting in Sam’s living room. The other young man definitely looked surprised for a moment to see him with Sam and his polite mask slipped for a fraction of a second into a scowl. Of course it was gone almost before it appeared, Sam’s parents probably wouldn’t have even seen it had their attention not been focused on their son, quickly shifting back to a fake worried expression as his eyes turned on Sam.

“I brought it with me when your parents called, its up in your room. I heard about what happened at school today. I wish you’d come to me.” Eric replied, giving Sam a look of both sympathy and regret that would make any actor proud.

Eric’s eyes flickered briefly to Dean Winchester. Eric didn’t know how the hell Sam had ended up with the freak Winchester standing behind him like some fucking junk yard guard dog but he was definitely going to put a stop to it.

“How about I come pick you up tomorrow and we can talk and work things out?”

Sam caught the flash of anger that crossed Eric's face when he saw Dean was with him. He had probably expected Sam to come dragging in, having been hiding out somewhere or something, and then Eric would play all sympathetic friend. He was suddenly so glad Dean had come in with him. He was relieved he got his books back though he wouldn't be shocked to find them torn up, or damaged, or a nasty note or something in there. But since Eric wouldn't know if his parents might go through the backpack, everything was probably safe and intact.

Sam felt absolute panic fill him when Eric made his offer and his mind scrambled for a response.

"I'm sorry, Eric," Sam said, praying Dean wasn’t going to kill him for this, "but Dean's going to pick me up because we're getting together for a study session before school. And tomorrow afternoon, if he has the time, he's going to show me some stuff about restoring cars." He glanced at his father. "I thought maybe you and I might be able to spend an hour or two on the weekends working on your Mustang."

Well, Dean hadn't denied him his lie, thank God. He turned back to Eric, his voice as sincere as he could manage. "Thanks a lot for bringing me my books. As for what happened in school today, I know you could have probably put a stop to it, but I thought I could handle it. I guess I pissed someone off, but I'm sure whoever it is, you can keep them from bothering me again. With the sort of people you know, I just know you won't let it happen again. I can even tell you exactly who gave me trouble today if you want." He gave a pointed look to Eric, daring him to make him start listing names. "I appreciate you siccing all your friends out hunting for me…when my parents called and told you I wasn't home yet." He gave Eric what smile he could manage, considering his fat lip and bruises.

Eric’s eyes narrowed a fraction and his gaze flickered to Dean over Sam’s shoulder. Perhaps he thought Dean was going to somehow deny Sam’s claims that the younger boy had already made previous arrangements with him.

Maybe if the circumstances had been a little different Dean might have said something. He might have been more than a little pissed off that Sam was dragging him into the middle of this without even asking him first. But considering everything… and the fact that Dean had followed Sam inside of his own free will, the younger boy hadn’t even asked him for that… he was only mildly annoyed.

Even that annoyance faded quickly into smug satisfaction knowing just how pissed Eric must be right now at his involvement. He could see how hard it was for the bastard to reign in his anger and keep it from showing in front of Sam’s parents. Dean almost wished Eric would snap and try something, just give him one excuse to kick the punk’s ass right here and now, show everyone the real Eric Lancaster.

But of course Eric had far too much experience to let himself slip up now when it could cost him, and instead of anger, all his expression showed was disappointment… even hurt… and Dean barely kept himself from gagging.

“Of course, I’ll do what I can, Sam. But I can’t do anything if you piss off the wrong people again. If you were smart, you wouldn’t piss them off in the first place.” Eric said evenly. “When you’re ready to talk, let me know.”

With that, Eric turned to Sam’s parents with a polite smile.

“Thank you for your hospitality as always Mr. and Mrs. Colt. I hope you all will still be attending my parent’s party this weekend. I should probably be going.” Eric said, and then turned to Sam one more time before heading to the door. “See you at school, Sammy.”

Sam let disappointment color his own voice. “Gosh, Eric, I didn’t think there was anyone at school who didn’t respect you and listen to you. You’re so popular. And I heard you hurt your leg. I hope it’s okay.” Sam blinked innocently at him. “I’ll keep that in mind. You’ve done some just…unbelievable…things for me. Stuff I’ll never forget. Ever.”

Jim smiled at Eric. “Thank you for trying to look after Sam. Anything you can do for him is really appreciated. We wouldn’t miss the party. And neither would Sam. We’ll all be there.”

Sam nearly choked when his father promised he would be there too. How was he going to avoid Eric? The parents would certainly shoo the teens off to themselves. Maybe he could come up with some excuse, a big exam or something, that he had to study for. “Yeah, see you,” Sam said to Eric.

After watching Eric leave, he glanced up at Dean with apology in his eyes. Dean didn’t ask to get involved in this mess. At least his parents would already be gone by the time he needed to head out to catch the bus, so Dean didn’t have to actually show up. Already he had been enough of an inconvenience to the teen.

“Can I get you a Coke or something before you go?” Sam asked Dean and added hastily, “you’re welcome to stay, but I don’t think I’m really up to a game of pool. We could sit out back and talk if you want. We’ve got a little waterfall thing out there.”

Sam’s dad interceded. “I think you need to get some rest, Sammy.” Jim gave Dean a grateful smile. “I don’t mean to chase you off, but I need to look after Sam. Thanks for taking care of my son. Let me get you one for the road at least. Mountain Dew? Coke? We’ve got some of that high end real root beer if you like root beer.”

Dean frowned at the way Sam was obviously baiting Eric. Well, obviously to him, though his parents were probably oblivious. He had to admit it, Sam had balls. Especially since the younger boy had the shit kicked out of him all day long for pissing off Eric in the first place. At the same time, considering he had the shit kicked out of him all day long, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if the younger boy was a little stupid or suicidal for pissing off Eric even more than he already was.

Dean watched Eric leave, not sure he wanted to imagine just what the other boy was going to have in store for Sam tomorrow. If Sam thought that what had happened today was the worst thing that could happen to him…

He looked at Sam, saw the apology in the younger boy’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Hell, what could he say? Before Dean could even really contemplate Sam’s offer of a drink and to stick around for a while, such as why the younger boy would even want him to since his parents were here and Eric was gone, Sam’s father was basically throwing him out. Sure the older man was pretty polite about it, but that’s still what it amounted to.

Dean wondered briefly if he was ‘upper’ class like Eric instead of poor white trash if Sam’s father would still be asking him to leave so Sam could rest. It didn’t matter he supposed.

He nodded slightly at the older man’s offer of thanks for helping Sam, which at least seamed genuine, however he shook his head at his offer of anything ‘for the road’.

“No thanks. Later, Sam.” Dean said and headed for the door.

Keiko spoke up before Dean had hardly turned. “Dean, I was wondering if you have a portfolio of the cars you restore? Sam wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think you did. If you don’t but you have pictures, bring them by and I would be happy to design a portfolio for you that you can show to potential clients. If you don’t have pictures, you should start taking some and I could give you some advice about what pictures to take.” She smiled at him. “If nothing else it’s nice down the road to look back on the work you’ve done. And if any of your clients show their cars, any awards they’ve won would be excellent factoids to include.” She approached him and craned her head back to look up at the youth who topped her by almost a foot. She rested a hand lightly on his arm. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for Sam.” After giving his arm a squeeze she smiled fondly at him and let him go.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Sam said to Dean.

“Don’t dally, Samuel,” Jim said. “I want you back in here, off that knee and ice put on your bruises.” He gave Dean a nod. “You’re welcome here any time Dean. Sunday we’re grilling barbque chicken, nothing fancy, if you and your family would like to come by. Just let Sam know by Friday so we can pick up enough food.” With that, Jim headed to the kitchen to start filling up bags of ice.

Stepping out the front door, Sam saw that Eric’s car was already out of sight, though the rumble of its engine was still just barely audible. Once outside, Sam gave a soft sigh. “I’m really sorry. I kind of freaked when Eric said he was going to pick me up. My dad wouldn’t have let me say ‘no.’ He wants me to make nice with Eric, be his friend again. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. The last thing you need is having Eric and his crew harassing you. And you don’t have to pick me up. Both my parents leave before I have to leave to get to the bus stop.” He sighed again. “Tomorrow is so going to suck worse than today. And Saturday’s party,” Sam shuddered, “Hadn’t counted on that. Saturday is just going to be swell. Maybe I’ll get lucky and break my leg or something. Or one of Eric’s hitmen will have done it for me.”

Dean stopped when Sam’s mother spoke and raised an eyebrow when she asked him if he had a ‘portfolio’ of the work he’d done. He didn’t know whether to feel more confused or surprised. Aside from the fact that he didn’t understand why Sam would have talked to his mother about him in the first place, it was a little out of the blue.

He didn’t know why she was offering the advice or help to put one together for him. What the hell did it matter to her whether or not he kept a record of his work? It wasn’t any of their business. He certainly hadn’t asked for the advice, or the help.

He supposed it was a… nice offer… or whatever. But he certainly wouldn’t be taking her up on it. It wasn’t like he planned on making a living off of ‘restoring cars’, as Sam kept putting it. That was a hobby more than anything else. A hobby that just happened to bring in some extra cash, but that was about it. Dean wondered briefly what Sam’s parents would think if he told them what his real job was. Not working in Bobby’s salvage yard. But hunting ghosts, monsters, and whatever else that went bump in the night.

That would certainly make an interesting ‘portfolio’. Grave digging, beheading zombies… maybe he could ask Bobby to take polaroids…

“Sure.” He simply said to her offer of thanks and started for the door again. Well, at least he now knew where Sam got his tendency to ramble on. Dean didn’t say anything to Sam’s offer to walk him to his car or his father’s insistence that he could stop by anytime. He wouldn’t be back.

Dean merely shrugged at Sam’s offer of an apology. He already knew why Sam had done it, he didn’t need to explain.

“Fine.” He replied when Sam said that he didn’t need to come pick him up in the morning. Strangely enough, he hadn’t even considered not doing it. But if Sam didn’t want him to, he wouldn’t. Dean walked around to the driver’s side of the impala and leaned against the roof looking at Sam.

“I think the last thing you should be worrying about, Sam, is that bastard ‘harassing’ me.” Dean said, frowning a little at the younger boy’s martyr attitude. “So either let them kick the shit out of you again, or do something about it.”

With that, Dean got into his car.

Sam had kind of hoped Dean would be by to pick him up but he didn’t want Dean to feel like he had to. From Dean’s attitude it was obvious Sam would be walking. Well, he told him he didn’t have to so he couldn’t complain. He was baffled by the brusqueness Dean showed his family though. His family hadn’t been anything but nice to Dean. He scowled a little. Maybe Dean was little better than the others who went to Chalmers.

“It’ll be my fault and I don’t want to cause you any problems,” Sam said. He laughed bitterly at Dean’s comment. “And what am I supposed to do? I slammed my lunch tray upside one kid’s head. I fought back when I could. But it’s kind of hard to do sh*t when it’s four against one and they have a hold of your arms. Wait, I know, I’ll go back to Eric and tell him how sorry I am. Or I can—what did Randall say—get me a sponser. Yeah. Hey Dean, wanna be my sponser? I am a virgin and all. You getting there first would sure as hell piss off Eric.”

Sam turned away from the car and limped back toward the door. He stopped and turned back to Dean. “I’m sorry I’m not some bad ass like you. I’m sorry I’m some middle class kid trying to fit in to a school that I don’t belong in and that the richest bastard in the school wants me to be his bitch. I’m sorry my dad isn’t best buddies with the principal like yours. Or is he even your dad? Winchester. I thought you were pretty cool. My parents did too.” He glared at Dean. “And I guess you’ll be too good to join us for a stupid family cook out too, huh? Well maybe I’ll have Dad call Bobby. I bet Bobby would come.”

He really didn’t know where the anger inside him was coming from. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. It was his own. He just wanted to lash out, feeling trapped and helpless. And he was letting his alligator mouth over ride his hummingbird ass, as his dad would say, with both Dean and Eric. He headed for the front door, barely holding back his tears of frustration.

Rather than being pissed off by Sam’s ‘passionate’ bitch fest, Dean merely rolled his eyes at the younger boy’s retreating back. So, Sam was finally getting a lesson of just how fucked up this world really was. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. It was long past time that the younger boy woke up and smelled the steaming shit pile that life dumped on you on a daily basis no matter what you did to try to crawl out of it.

If Sam thought he could earn Dean’s sympathy by whining about how unfair life was, he would be sorely disappointed. Dean had seen firsthand just how ‘unfair’ life was when he was three years old and he watched his home burn to the ground with his parents still inside. Life had reminded him just how fucked up it was every second of every minute since then.

His parents killed. His brother taken from him. Being passed around like some fucking hot potato from family to family as a child, until he’d finally ended up with a foster father that liked to ‘hug’ him a little too much. Running away and living on the street for two years and learning what you had to do to survive on those streets…

Yeah, life sucked. So get a fucking helmet.

If Sam wanted to be pissed off and lash out at him because he knew that Dean wouldn’t hit back, or at least thought Dean wouldn’t hit him back, that was Sam’s right. But if Sam thought that Dean was just going to sit there and be his verbal whipping boy, again, he would be disappointed.

“Oh Boo-fucking-hoo. Life isn’t fair. I don’t fit in. I’m being picked on at school.” Dean mimicked Sam’s whiny ass tone, only a lot more annoyingly. “Maybe you deserve to be someone’s bitch, since you’re so good at acting like one, Sam.”

Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s reply before gunning the engine and driving away.

Sam cringed at hearing Dean's retort. God, did he sound like that? Well, dammit, he'd never experienced anything like this before. Yeah he had been picked on for being Supergeek the Superfreak. He didn't know how to handle Eric. Was he supposed to just fold and give in? Dean said to do something about it? Like what? He mulled this over as he went inside.

"He seems like a nice kid," Sam's father said and waved Sam onto the couch.

"He's poor," Sam said simply. "His dad owns Singer's Salvage. He's friends with the principal and got Dean in." Sam sat down on the couch wincing, putting arm across his ribs.

Jim Colt paused a moment. "Oh. Well, we can't all be born rich."

"You're not blowing a gasket because I'm friends with the poorest kid in school?"

"Ah, but you're also friends with some of the richest, the ones that can help you succeed," Jim said, unwrapping Sam's knee so he could get the ice on it.

"Dad…Eric…he…"

Jim gave him a hard look. "I know you two seem to be on the outs. I told you before, fix it."

"Dad, he wants me to—"

"I don't care. Fix it," his father said, holding the ice pack out for him.

Sam shoved himself off the couch.

"Samuel!"

"I'm going to my room!" Sam snapped, ignoring the offered icepack. He limped to his room and slammed the door. He looked around at the posters he had, one of Einstein, one of the Earth from space, a picture of Lady Justice with her blindfold and holding two swords, among others. He ripped them down. He ripped them all down and shredded them. He started to stuff them into the trashcan then instead left them where they fell.

Turning on his computer he sat at his desk. Opening the drawer he found Bobby's card. He picked up the phone and called him.

"Hi Bobby, it's Sam."

"Home safe and sound are you?"

"Yeah. Hey could you do me a big favor? Do you have a list of all the clients Dean's restored cars for?"

"Well, yeah. Why?"

"I wanna make him a present. It's a surprise. Can you give me their names and phone numbers?"

Bobby hesitated. "I dunno, kid…"

"Oh, c'mon, it'll be a really cool surprise, I promise. He may be kinda pissed at me when he gets back and I want to make it up to him."

Bobby was silent for a minute. "You know, I ain't seen that boy go out of his way for anyone when he wasn't on a job."

"I don't think he'll be doing that again," Sam sighed. "But that doesn't matter. I still want to do this for him. He doesn't…he doesn't have a portfolio of his work, does he?"

"His cars? No," Bobby said. "He just does it on the side, kiddo. He likes doing it."

"Fine," Sam huffed, "but calling it a scrapbook sure makes it sound girlie."

Bobby burst into laughter. "Yeah, all right. Hang on. It's on my computer."

"Can you email me the list? I want to call them and get pictures of Dean's cars. Think that'll be okay?"

"Yeah," Bobby said warmly.

"Super! My email is sjcolt45_1983 at hotmail. And would you tell Dean…I'm sorry. And…and if he would pick me up tomorrow, I won't say a word all the way to school. I'll be heading out to the bus stop at 7:30. No hard feelings if he doesn't want to. I was being a jerk."

"He can have that effect on people," Bobby sighed. "I'll tell him."

"He might be pissed I told you but…we're having a cook out on Sunday, barbque chicken and potato salad and stuff. Just me and mom and dad. Dad invited him and you. I don't think he wants to come, but…well…just so you know. Dad usually starts cooking about two."

"Okay. I'll keep it in mind, kid."

"Thanks Bobby. Bye."

Bobby hung up the phone and shook his head. If Dean came home all worked up…maybe some target shooting would do him some good. If the boy hadn't gotten plastered the night before, he might have even offered him some whiskey. Hell, he might anyhow. After he finished his homework.

Dean hadn’t even gotten a block away from Sam’s house before he cranked the volume back up on his stereo back to where it should be. Loud enough that when he stopped at a crosswalk two women walking by, one pushing a stroller and one holding the hand of a little girl, glared at him disapprovingly as they passed in front of his car. He gave them the one fingered salute, which had both of the women gasping and hurrying. The one mom trying to cover the eyes of her daughter at the same time.

Fucking suburbia. He hated it.

Gunning the engine Dean pulled out of the intersection fast enough that he probably would have gotten pulled over if any cops were nearby. Right now he was in enough of a mood that he might have given them a run for their money. Bobby would kill him if he got arrested again though. Especially for something so stupid.

God damn Sam. Why the hell had he even bothered to stop his car in the first place and help him? Sam’s problems definitely weren’t any of his concern. God damn Bobby for bringing the boy home like a stray puppy. If Bobby hadn’t done that he would have gone on perfectly blissfully happy and uninvolved in the younger boy’s issues. Issues Dean definitely didn’t need. He had more than enough problems of his own. He could have driven by Sam on the road today without a second look, and instead he’d stopped, gotten involved… he must be out of his fucking mind.

When Dean pulled into the salvage yard, Rumsfeld was there to greet him again, as always. Jumping around and acting like a fool. Like the animal hadn’t seen him in years when he’d only been gone about a half hour or so. Usually it made him smile. Right now he just sighed as he patted the dog on the head and headed for the front door.

“I’m home.” He called to Bobby when he walked in the house. Not that Bobby probably didn’t already know he was there from Rumsfeld’s barking, but just in case. Dean had learned early on that it was always a bad idea to surprise a hunter.

“I left the receipts from this afternoon on your desk, did you find them?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen and tossed his keys down on the counter.

Bobby looked up from where he had some guns spread out on the kitchen table. "Yep. Saw 'em. Thanks."

He ran the rag down the barrel of the pistol he held. Yeah, Dean had that slight edge to his voice and tension in shoulders. He was definitely upset.

"After you finish your homework, thought we might do some night time target practice." He chuckled at Dean's grimace. "I know, but you know you have to do it. The better your grades, the more trade secrets I'll share, that's the deal. Might even have a hunt coming up in a couple weeks iffen you keep your grades up. Might have us a werewolf."

The light he saw in Dean's eyes made him smile. He watched as Dean grabbed his books and set them on the table across from him. "I want to tell you, son, I'm proud of you for stepping in and helping that young 'un. He's a bit out of his league with that bunch at yer school." Bobby swiped the cleaning cloths down the barrel. "Sammy called, told me to tell you he was sorry for being a jerk. And he was hoping you might find it in you to pick him up tomorrow a bit before 7:30. Even said he would be quiet all the way to the school grounds. Course if you did that, you could save a little of your homework for the morning since you would be getting in to school a little early." He cocked an eyebrow at Dean.

Dean walked over to the cupboard, grabbed the bag of Doritos down, and shoved a few into his mouth. When Rumsfeld sat down next to him and whined, Dean looked over his shoulder at Bobby to make sure the older man wasn’t looking before he also fed the dog a chip. Not that they didn’t feed Rumsfeld their leftovers all the time, but Doritos were kind of pushing it.

Target practice, Dean could definitely appreciate some of that right about now. He felt like pumping a few bullets into something, even if it was only a target. However the stipulation that he had to do his homework had the young man making a face. He was really in no mood to do his fucking homework tonight.

Bobby’s reminder of their deal, and knowing that the older man definitely wasn’t going to let him near the guns tonight unless he did his homework first, had him grumbling under his breath but he grabbed his books all the same. Taking them and his chips over to the table and sitting down across from the older man. But when Bobby mentioned taking him on another hunt soon, Dean’s mood changed quickly. A werewolf even. Awesome.

Dean dug out his math homework first and started working on it. He had kind of expected Bobby to just quietly clean the guns while he worked, and was a little surprised when the older man started talking again. When Bobby said he was proud of him… for helping Sam… Dean kept his eyes glued to the page of his textbook, only shrugging a little in reply. He still wasn’t used to hearing Bobby say stuff like that to him. That he was proud of him…

He supposed Bobby was right though. The bastards at that school were a little out of Sam’s league. Dean on the other hand was used to dealing with scum. The fact that these assholes just happened to be well bred scum made little difference.

Dean looked up quickly before he could stop himself, unable to keep the slight surprise off his face when Bobby said that Sam had called to apologize. He turned his attention back to his book just as quickly though, frowning slightly as he pondered the reason why the younger boy would even bother… probably just didn’t want to get jumped again…

The young man flicked his gaze up to Bobby again briefly when the older man said he could put off doing some of his homework if he took Sam to school early in the morning. It was an obvious bribe, just like letting him target practice, and taking him on a hunt again so soon. Bobby must really like Sam.

“I’ll think about it.” Dean finally answered, turning back to his work.

Sam got in several calls to Dean's customers over the next half hour and then turned to his book bag. Eric had left everything untouched and no hidden surprises that he could find and he checked pretty thoroughly. With a sigh, he started his homework, and was really wishing he had at least snagged one of the bags of ice his dad had made up. He wasn't about to go out and get one though.

He decided a hot shower might help ease the pain, and a few more Tylenol. He had most of his homework done, but he still hadn't figured out how he was going to protect himself the next day. It was hard getting his ribs unwrapped and he doubted he would be able to re-wrap them without help. Well, after his shower he would worry about it. He crossed the hall to the bathroom, popped some Tylenol and just stood under the shower for awhile. It felt good.

After wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the door to go back to his room and stopped short, coming face to face with his mother. Her eyes took in the bruising on his chest and abdomen.

"Who did this Sam?" she asked softly.

"Eric gave me a couple, so did Adam and Cody, and then some of the other kids, probably on Eric's orders all so I'd go to Eric, begging him to take me back. Mom I can't, I won't, 'fix it' between Eric and me. I don't want a friend like him."

"What was the fight over?" she asked as she ushered him into his room. She saw the bandages that had been around Sam's ribs and picked them up. She had her son sit on the chair while she began wrapping his ribs.

Sam considered for a long while. "Girls. Let's just leave it at that."

"Huh," his mother said and tugged the bandages tightly. "So they'll come after you again tomorrow."

"Pretty good bet."

"You know what you need to do?"

Sam looked at her expectantly.

She smiled sweetly. "Play dirty, Sweetheart. Don't wait for them to hit first if you know they're coming for you."

He gaped at her. "What?"

"You heard me. Punch them in the throat, kick them in their privates, stomp on feet and hands. Whatever it takes."

"And if I get suspended for fighting?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'd rather see you suspended than with a chestful of broken ribs, or internal injuries or broken limbs."

"Dad…"

"I'll deal with your father," she said. "You just take whatever he doles out. But I'll deal with him once he calms down."

"I don't want to go back to that school, Mom," Sam said softly.

She patted his shoulder. "Welcome to the real world, Sammy. It isn't always white picket fences and new cars. Sometimes you have to work really hard to get what you want. Sometimes you have to fight really hard for what you want. Sometimes you have to do both. You can't just cave in and give up because it suddenly got hard or unpleasant. You want to be a lawyer. Do you think you'll always be dealing with nice people, innocent people? Do you think you won't make enemies? It's part of growing up. Do your best. Try to find your footing, make other friends. I'll bet in no time you'll be doing okay."

Sam nodded, though he didn't really believe her. "Can I skip the party on Saturday?" he asked hopefully.

"I think I might be able to come down with the flu," she said, winking at him.

Surprise once again colored his eyes.

"I could care less about the rich snooty women. Your dad only wants it so badly because he's convinced it will help you make a better life for yourself. I just want you to be happy."

"But you're killing yourselves working overtime…"

She laughed. "Sweetheart, I'd probably be doing the overtime anyhow. Now stop worrying about it. Do your best and don’t put up with their shit. You're a Colt. Maybe we're not rich, but dammit, we're strong. I expect you to be, too." She tousled his hair. "I can only do that when you're sitting down now, you're getting so tall. Get some sleep. It'll be better in the morning. And you've got Dean to help you, don't you?"

Sam shrugged. "Uhm, maybe. I don't know. I only met him yesterday."

"Well," she smiled as she got up and went to the door, "friendship has to start somewhere."

*

In the morning, Sam put two old text books in the back pack and put some quarters in a small pouch in his pocket. He put his homework in a folder and two copies of each folded in the text books. He decided wearing his sports cup might be a good idea, and his mom wrapped extra bandages around his ribs for some small bit of extra protection. He was going to try to stay on the offensive if he could. He would just have to pay better attention to those around him.

It was going on 7:30 and he knew he needed to get going to the bus stop. His knee, with the Tylenol, was feeling okay, especially so long as it was wrapped. He didn't think he would limp much. Still. Ten fucking blocks. It was going to be aching he figured by the time he got there. He picked up his things and headed for the door.