Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters. If I did, my life would be complete.

Summary: No matter what, Sam will always trust his big brother. Another story in the "What if they had Max's childhood?" category. There is no hunting in this story. Character deaths.

Trust

John Winchester was a horrible man. To the outside world, he was great. A gentleman, always willing to help other people. A good father to his kids. Behind closed doors, he changed. Ever since the death of his wife, John started drinking. At first it was just a little bit here and there. But as time passed, he started drinking more and more. And his children payed the price.

Sam Winchester rounded the corner of the street he lived on. He had been a little late getting out of school because he had had quite a few questions to ask his teacher. Normally he and Dean would walk home together, but Dean had detention for being late to class. Sam was about to cross the street when he stopped short. His dad's black 1967 Chevy Impala was sitting in the driveway of their small house. This wasn't right. His dad was usually at the bar at this time. Sam slowly walked across the street, up the driveway, and onto the front porch. He slowly and gently opened the door, walked into the foyer, and softly closed the door. As quietly as he could, he started to walk across the room to the stairs. Before he could make it half-way across the room, however, the angry voice of his father called out to him. "Sam!" Sam spun on the spot to his father standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "You're late." he said coldly.

"I-I'm sorry, sir." Sam replied, his voice shaking. "I had to talk to my teacher."

"That's no excuse!" he yelled. "You are supposed to be home ten minutes after school is over!"

"But-." Sam began, but before he could finish he sentence his father had closed the distance between the kitchen and Sam and slapped him hard across the face. Sam just stood there, tears forming in his eyes. "It could have been worse." his father said calmly. "Now go to your room before I change my mind. And don't worry. I'll be having a little talk with your brother." Sam turned, ran up the stairs, and into his and Dean's bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, then sat down with his back against his bed. It seemed like he sat there for hours before he heard the front door open and close, followed by loud yelling and the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. At this point, fresh tears invaded his eyes and fell freely down his face. What did they ever do to deserve this? The bedroom door flew open, and Sam nearly jumped a foot in the air. Dean walked in quickly and shut the door behind him. He turned to look at Sam. A bruise was forming above Dean's right eye, and he had a cut on his left cheek. "Did he hit you?" he asked Sam. Sam could only nod. This hurt Dean more than the beatings did. He couldn't stand to see his little brother in pain. He walked over, sat next to Sam, and put his arms around him. They sat there for a while, Sam sobbing quietly and Dean whispering words of comfort. Sam's sobs soon died down, but Dean didn't let go and Sam didn't pull away. "I promise Sammy, I'll get us out of this." Dean said quietly.

"I know you will." Sam replied thickly. There was silence, then Dean asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Always." Sam whispered.

These kind of events went on for months. Their father would find something to blame on them, and they would be beaten unmercifully. And after every beating, Dean would promise Sam that he would save them, and he would always ask him if he trusted him. Sam always said yes. Dean tried many things to stop their father. He even went to the police. But they didn't believe him, because John was too well liked in the community. The officer declared that boy had hurt himself, and wondered what he had against his father. Then he called John. It had been a bad night. Dean didn't know what else to do. He had just about given up. Then one day Sam was late getting home again, and his father hurt him worse than he ever had before. Dean's blood reached a dangerous boiling point. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take watching his brother in pain. But what could he do? He knew he couldn't escape his father. And then it hit him. At that very instant, he knew what must be done.

Sam came home at exactly ten minutes after school let out. His father was asleep on the couch.

He quietly slipped up the stairs. When he got to the top, he heard movement in the room to the right. His dad's room. He walked over and slowly pushed the door open. There he saw Dean, rummaging through one of the dresser drawers. "Dean, what are you doing?" Sam whispered loudly. "If dad sees you in here, he'll kill you." Dean slipped something into his pocket, then turned and walked out the room. Sam stared at him in fright and awe. "What were you doing in there?"

"Nothing." he said calmly. He paused, then said, "Why don't we go to the park?"

"What? Why?"

"Well, it's a nice day, and we haven't been to the park in a while."

"But what if dad-"

"Don't worry about dad." Dean cut him off. "Come on, it will be fun."

"Okay." said Sam hesitantly. They made their way down the stairs, across the living room, and to the front door. "Go on outside and wait for me. There's something I have to take care of." Dean told Sam.

He nodded and quietly went outside. He almost made it to the driveway when he heard a loud pop. He turned around in fear. After a minute, Dean came out the house. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he seemed a little shaken. " What was that noise?" Sam asked, panic in his voice.

"Never you mind." Dean answered. "Come on. Lets go." They walked the two blocks to the park in silence. When they got there, they found a small bench and sat down. The park was empty save for them, which was very strange. Usually the park was crowded, even on a cool day. They sat there for a while, then Dean said quietly, "I found our way out."

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"I found our way out. We're leaving." Realization dawned in Sam's eyes. "We are?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes." Dean said, with a slight tremble in his voice. "But there's a problem. See, we can only get there one at a time. And you have to go first."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but it's the only way we can get there." His voice shook even more, but Sam didn't seem to notice. Dean slipped something out of his pocket and put his arm around his little brother's shoulders, careful not to let him see the object. It was a gun. "Where are we going?" Sam asked him with excitement in his voice.

"Sorry kid. I can't tell you that. But you'll love it. There's someone there I really want you to meet." Silent tears were rolling down his face, but again Sam didn't seem to notice. This was even more unusual, because you couldn't get anything past him. "Sammy, you know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do! And I love you, too."

"And you know that everything I do, I do it for a reason?"

"Yes." Dean raised the gun and put it against Sam's head, but not enough to touch. He put his finger on the trigger, but before he could do anything, Sam spoke in a very strange, knowing voice, "I trust you." And Dean knew that what he was really saying was, "I know what you're going to do. And it's okay, because I believe in you."

"Good." A single shot rang out, and Sam became limp in his arms. Dean let out a loud sob. He dropped the gun, cradled Sam in his arms, and cried. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but soon he heard sirens. He knew that if he didn't hurry, he would be found, and he would never be able to join his brother. He quickly picked up the gun and reloaded it. Trembling, he put the barrel against his head. "Don't worry, Sammy." he whispered. "I'm right behind you." And he pulled the trigger.