Greetings all! Another story I'm attempting. Hope it's successful.
Sam and Dean walked about the large, crowded halls aimlessly, looking at everything with wonder and something very akin to reverent worship. The windows were cluttered with merchandises varying from fur coats to little toy trains.
Their father, God love and bless him for all eternity, allowed the brothers to go to the mall, the place often considered by John to be the main cause of human ignorance. You could drown yourself in all this paraphernalia and still have enough to choke on after death. How could someone live so blissfully when this happiness was all so fake?
Regardless, that was far from what Dean was considering right then; he and Sammy were on a mission. That mission? New shoes. Sam's were worse than Dean's by far, the soles of his converses worn and tearing all along the edges, several pieces already ripped off completely. Dean's were merely chafed at the tip and slightly grayed, but John was giving them a treat and, by God, he was going to take advantage of it.
They walked side-by-side to a sneaker store titled "Payless Shoe Source". Self-explanatory enough, right? Good thing, too, because, right then, Dean couldn't tell princess from goth in this unknown, somehow unpleasant environment. The cashier appeared amiable enough if her dimpled smile was anything to go by, though, and the eager shoppers emitted happy vibes as they shopped for their dream shoes.
Dean turned to see Sam with a vibrant, fervent expression on his face, as if a small child finally allowed their first ride on a pony. Dean smiled as he watched Sam further enter the store. This was the life Sam always dreamt of. Not necessarily to become a dull employee at a shoe shop, but to live out and experience a normal life for once. Dean ached to allow the kid to go out and fulfill that neverending, boundless dream, but he knew just as well as Sam that their dad would have no inclination of giving him up. Sam's talent with research was nearly unparalleled in the world of hunters. His ability was almost god-like.
Sam's expression changed, and he must have recognized the improbability of a normal life as soon as Dean did. He removed himself from his trance, now back to his ordinary, everyday self.
Sam turned to face Dean. "So, I guess we'll split up and meet back later? The store's not that big."
Dean nodded, knowing they'd probably find their personal preference of shoes in different isles. Sam enjoyed a good pair of comfortable converses while Dean was a big believer in the dark brown cowboy boots.
He pulled back his jacket sleeve, taking a glance at his watch. "Alright, well, I'll just come get you when I finish." Not that Dean would finish first, because he probably wouldn't. He was very picky about the shape and style of his boots and, oddly, Sam didn't really show much interest in shoes. He usually just got the navy blue or black converses and called it a day.
Sam nodded nonetheless, then walked over to the very left isle and began working in. That was what was weird with Sam. He needed everything perfect, moving in an orderly and systematic fashion, allowing no room for error in an instance where it really didn't matter otherwise. Dean smirked, shaking his head, then went to the isle smack in the middle to begin his mad search for boots.
It took him a good while to find a pair that looked even remotely similar to his style. He ended up at the very right isle in the front row and, if he had used Sam's system of order, would have found them in no time. Wistful, Dean grabbed a good-looking pair of dark boots, inspecting them for scratches. Seeing the price tag at the heel, he whistled. $60 was a hefty amount to throw down the drain, but John had allowed them a big free day, and Dean was going to treat it as such.
As he continued his search, he heard quiet snickering coming from his left, where there was an entire section of nothing but empty space and small chairs to try shoes on. Dean turned, prepared to put some annoying bastard in his place if need be, but saw no one looking in his direction. There were two grown men, probably in their mid-thirties, smirking heinously on a small, gray bench, watching something out of Dean's view.
"Damn, that is some nice ass," the taller, leaner of the two said, looking, staring, at something ahead of him.
Dean rolled his eyes, suddenly irritable. They were probably checking out some chick. This was a simple shoe store, was it not? Why the fuck did you feel encouraged to hit on people here?
Nevertheless, Dean put the boots back in their place and walked in the direction of the men. He was a hunter, a defender of the people and, sometimes, you had to defend humans from themselves.
Because they were just fucking stupid.
Mildly curious, once he was out of the isle he turned to see the subject to their fawning. A moment of pure astonishment passed over him before he became overwhelmed with rage. His hands turned to tight fists, and he absently heard the distinct grinding of his teeth.
Across from the two men was his baby brother. His baby brother. That "nice ass" they were talking about? Yeah, that belonged to his baby fucking brother.
Presently, Sam was facing away and completely unaware. On tiptoes, he was reaching his hand up to grab one of the shoe boxes just out of reach. As his hand stretched farther his shirt rode up, the slightest inch of bare skin now visible. The men smothered a howl at the spectacle, as if hoping he'd keep going and strip provocatively out of his pants if he remained unaware of their presence.
The taller man leaned nearer to his stockier, shorter brown-haired friend, whispering quietly and secretively into his ear. Dean leaned forward, just barely catching his muted words.
"$100 bucks says I can get this boy naked and in bed by the end of the day," he said, smirking wildly with lust.
Dean's head felt like it was going to explode. He could barely even fathom these grown men were sharing such repulsive thoughts about his fifteen year old brother. Did other people see Sam this way? Has Dean been so ignorant of the darkness in human souls that he hasn't noticed fucking pedophiles walking around arms-length from his brother?
Fucking fuck. How could he be so dense?
Dean reluctantly remained crouched in his hiding place. Adrenaline and fury urged him to pulverize the two men, but he had to be rational. He forced himself to be rational. He was in this tiny ass store with thin walls and numerous bystanders. How would the people here take it if he beat the shit out of and, very likely, killed two of their customers?
No...no, he'd wait a little bit longer. Bide his time. Wait it out until the two men left, then when they were walking out through the parking lot...
The two men shared a mischievous look, one smiling in response with a look kindred to covetous desire. He shook the taller man's stretched hand heartily, ready for a show.
But Sam wasn't defenseless- no, they just thought he was. The only weakness Sam had was his naivete and unfortunately, the very thing that could get him killed or worse by a couple of sick men like these. Sam was unaware of the appeal people saw in him, his cute dimples and soft eyes just another part of his face, and if someone came up and randomly struck up a conversation with him he'd think it was because they were being friendly, not because they wanted to make out.
The men continued to talk quietly to themselves, the shorter one eying Sam before looking back at his friend. "You know, we could sell this kid and get some serious dough, let 'em borrow him a few hours."
The taller one kept his gaze on Sam, his stare cold and, somehow, still with conspicuous avidity. "I don't care if you want random men fucking him on a daily basis, but I'm the first to take him."
Dean clenched his hands tighter, and already he felt the blood spill from his hands, dribbling in between his fingers and down his wrists. If he'd been planning to show them mercy before, that was long gone now.
The taller man stood and walked toward Sam, and Dean made an instinctive step forward with him. He stopped himself just in time though, holding his breath then exhaling loudly through his nostrils. Wait it out, Dean. Just see what happens.
Dean realized now that he hated waiting. He never planned on doing this again. Ever.
The tall man stepped up behind the exasperated Sam, his hands relaxed on his hips, and tapped Sam's bony shoulder. Sam jumped and turned around, seeming surprised to see the unfamiliar man. Dean continued to watch as the man, probably introducing himself, held a hand out for Sam to take with a confident, sure smile. Sam took it, nodding his head, probably telling the man his current, fake name. The man then moved toward the shelf, barely lifting his hand to grab the box Sam had been reaching for moments ago. He brought it back down and handed it to Sam gingerly, feigning politeness.
Dean continued to sear with unadulterated animosity, barely holding himself back as he imagined himself burning this guy on a skillet, the flames jumping at him and scorching his flesh until it reached inevitable bone. He managed to stay at his discreet spot in the back, barely. He'd allow this to play out as long as the man didn't touch Sam in a way he's against. Until then, he'd sit back and watch the horror show.
Still feeling petulant as he crept into hearing range, he thought to himself, too bad I forgot the popcorn.
Roy gave the teen both a shoebox of converses and bright, hopefully seductive smile, fighting the urge to lick his lips while doing so. He had been practicing that same smile for weeks for a moment like this, and he hoped it wouldn't fail him now.
The boy seemed unaffected though, smiling back in nothing more than a friendly manner as he opened up the box and sat at one of the small benches. Roy watched as he bent over to untie his currently dilapidated shoes, pushing them off his feet to replace them with the new, black converses he picked off the shelf. He further admired the boy's figure as he worked them on, noting the clear, smooth skin, silky brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, and, yes, absolutely perfect ass. He felt himself melting from the boy's figure, and he was still fucking clothed. He wanted so badly to rip off those second-rate clothes, strip him bare, and lay him on the bed to make fierce love to him. He'd wait, though, he was more than patient enough to quell his voracious thoughts just long enough to win the boy over.
Sam Turner was slipping on the second shoe when Roy thought to speak again, fully recuperated from his momentary lapse. "So, you from here? I think I'd remember someone like you."
Sam rose an eyebrow, confused, but smiled anyway. "No, just moved here recently, about a week ago, I think."
Roy nodded absently, unsure. Why did the boy not react to his flirting, as if he didn't even know what it was? Did he not understand the common methods of seduction, or was he trying to act like he didn't see what was right in front of him? He'd keep trying nonetheless, this was a catch he couldn't let pass that easily. Besides, if he didn't fuck this hottie by the end of the day he'd owe Joshua $100, and that sure as hell wasn't happening.
He scooted his ass a little closer to Sam's, nearly drooling at the proximity, and watched Sam finish tying his shoe. He moved his feet around, testing out the fit. Roy smiled alluringly, "Feel good?"
Sam turned to Roy, his mouth a grim line. "I don't know. They feel a little big." He stood, walking around in them a little. "Yeah, I think a 9 1/2 would be better.
Roy nodded, not giving up. He went back to the shelf in search for the kid's size. "Alright, let's see...". Ah-ha, something was finally going right today. "Found one. It's a bit high though, I can't reach it." He acted out the effort of reaching for the box, but allowed himself to fall short of the goal.
Sam shrugged, looking around. "That's okay. I'm sure we can someone who works here that can help us."
As the kid made for an escape, Roy grabbed his hand and pushed him in his direction, their chests nearly touching. Roy basked in the proximity. "Come on, what's the fun in that?"
Without waiting for a response, he hoisted the boy up, his hands holding onto Sam's waist tightly. Roy could feel his hip bones jutting out under his strong hands, and absently wondered if the kid actually ate.
Sam's bewilderment was quite nearly tangible as he kept him hoisted in the air. "Go on, kid, grab it."
Out of his trance, Sam plucked out the 9 1/2 size box before being placed carefully back on the ground. "Uhh, thanks."
Sam's back to him, Roy swiftly pushed him into the shelf and pressed up against him greedily, no longer capable of holding back his suddenly avaricious affections. He placed his mouth near the boy's ear before greedily licking it, his tongue swirling in a pattern down his ear to the lobe. "You and me, boy, we could make a real team, you know." His hand trailed the boy's body meticulously, memorizing every curve, the wondrous contours of his thin, muscular stomach, making it's way to that nice, smoking hot ass. Roy nearly fainted from it's marvelously carved perfection. Fuck me.
As he was still fantasizing, a hand abruptly grabbed onto the back of Roy's collar, yanking him backward and tumbling him into the bench, his face having a not too graceful confrontation with the floor. He cursed, the back of his head throbbing with pain, thumping against his brain in sync with his racing heart. He spun around, fully pissed for the interruption, his eyes landing on a young man standing behind him, his arms folded over his chest firmly, as if making sure not to do something he'd regret. Roy wondered distantly what that might be, what boundaries he had set for himself, because, apparently, walking over and punching him hard in the face didn't seem to be one of them.
A groan escaped Roy, a thick, viscous liquid dripping annoyingly out his nose and onto his lips, and he wondered how fucking fast his luck could change. Everything had been going so well, then this asshole comes and fucks it all up. The damn bastard. He was supposed to be mine. He looked at the man angrily, thinking the guy probably wanted Sam Turner all for himself. Damn bastard. Fuck.
Joshua finally came to the rescue, the fucker, but, before he could rear back and land a solid hit on the man, he spun around and kicked him hard in the gut. Joshua coughed up blood, drops of red spewing from his mouth as he fell to the floor, clutching his stomach.
"Shit," he moaned, turning to Roy accusingly, as if telling him, this is all your fucking fault. Roy hardly agreed but, then, he wasn't in a situation where he could call Joshua out on that, now was he?
But Roy wasn't giving up, fuck no, not without a fight. He turned to the anonymous man, spitting on his worn boot as he stood. "What, you think I'm going to let some punk-ass bitch like you take what's already mine? Fuck no, he belongs to me," he said fiercely, jabbing his chest with his thumb to further emphasize exactly who was owning who.
That seemed to make up the man's decision, because he hurled another dangerously precise and equally fierce punch right in his jaw, as if shoving all his resentment and hatred toward Roy into that one, single punch, the bone audibly cracking from the force. He stumbled back, hitting his head on the shelf sharply, sending several boxes tumbling onto his defenseless figure. He grunted, more out of pain than bravery. Damn this man, damn him to hell. It was all this bastard's fault, and Roy didn't have the strength or capability of standing to take charge once more and take back what was his. He turned his head, his eyes indignant to see Sam Turner now standing beside the older man. And, what surprised him still, the boy was still clothed. This boy had the audacity to keep his clothes intact while still in the presence of the great Roy Thomas? Not even shedding a single piece of apparel? He was used to men throwing themselves at him lustfully, tearing off both his and Roy's clothing in mere seconds, but this kid didn't seem interested at all. He looked angry, confused, betrayed. His big, soulful baby blues shone with something that made him almost feel bad for deceiving him. Almost.
The man stepped forward to the fallen Roy, his eyes ignited with a frenzied wrath that made even Roy appear sane. He crouched in front of him, his mouth barely twitching into a ferocious, tempestuous smile. "That kid over there," he said, knocking his head back in Sam's direction, "He doesn't belong to you, you or anybody else. So I strongly suggest you keep your filthy, repulsive hands off him or, so help me God, I will hunt you, and I will kill you." The last words were said with such a serious, cold glare that Roy wondered if the man would just kill him on the spot.
Then the man lifted his fist again, a third time, and slammed it home. Roy fell back with a thud, his eyes slowing sliding shut as he lost consciousness.
They drove back home in silence, the absence of the usual loud, headbanging music he enjoyed listening and often singing to a sign of just how troubled he was. Dean sighed for, possibly, the tenth time, and Sam merely twitched in response, probably wracking up in his geeky brain just how much trouble he was in. Sam hadn't said anything after Dean had knocked that bastard and his friend out, just leaving with Dean sulkily out of the store and into the Impala.
Finally, the silence no longer even faintly bearable, he swerved into the furthest lane and parked abruptly into an anonymous parking lot, not bothering to see which store he needed to thank for the convenient parking space. He turned to Sam, who was currently looking down at an inch hole in his pants, the small gap in his thigh frayed around the edges. Speaking of frayed, Dean absently realized they were driving home with no purchased shoes. He wondered if Dad was ask about it.
Whatever. That could wait.
"Sammy-," Dean started.
"I know, Dean, I screwed up," Sam interrupted, sighing in self-condemnation as he threw his hands up, exasperated.
"Now, come on, Sammy, I wasn't going to say that," he said patiently, allowing a small, hopefully pleasant smile to grace his face.
Sam waited, his hands crossed over his chest and just barely allowing his hair to fall into his face, covering his eyes and, most importantly, a free pass to his mind and thoughts. Dean sighed quietly, darting his gaze to the dashboard before locking them with Sam's hair-covered eyes. "Listen, Sammy, I first want to tell you this isn't your fault."
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean held up a finger. "Let me finish. However...". Dean rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly unsure how to proceed. "What you don't realize, Sammy, is that you're... attractive. People like the look of your face, and you can't tell the difference between flirtatious people and people merely trying to be friendly. The problem with you is, if they try to get in your pants, you can't tell because you don't know they want to get in your pants."
Sam watched him, his eyes slightly wide with his mouth a grim line. Some of the hair had fallen out of his eyes, and Dean could see the disbelief and doubt in his eyes. How can I get this through to him?
"Okay, here." Dean pulled the visor out on Sam's side of the car and opened the flap on the mirror. "What do you see?"
Sam looked at it, annoyed. "Well, let's see...I'm going to start with my face," he said sarcastically.
Dean rolled his eyes impatiently. "Be serious."
Sam looked at him incredulously, his eyebrows a sharp "v" while his lips the shape of a small "o". "How can I be serious about this, Dean? You're trying to convince me, may I remind you your brother, that I'm attractive. This is stupid, and ridiculous, and I'm ready to go home."
"Well that sucks for someone, doesn't it?" Dean said seriously. "Because we're not going anywhere until you understand the dangers outside our little bubble, and I will not allow that incident in the mall to replay itself in the future. You will be ready."
Sam sobered up, his blue eyes softening. He adjusted his arms until they just lay loosely on his legs, his finger going back to playing lightly with the frayed hole in his jeans. "I know you just want to help, but I know better now, Dean, really," he shrugged, possibly trying to lighten the mood, "I'll be okay, seriously. It's all good, man."
Dean pursed his lips. Because Sam had pulled his hair back into his eyes the instant he started talking told him all he wanted to know. Sam was just telling him what he thought Dean wanted to hear. "Sammy, let me ask you something. When we were both still in high school, did you know people would come up to me in the hallways and ask me if you were single? Do you know how many times a week I had to answer that damn question over and over and over? It was ridiculous."
Sam's eyebrows arched further up his forehead, no longer visible through his hair as he turned to Dean in surprise. "W-What?" he stuttered, "Really?"
Dean nodded, hoping that would help bring home to his little brother what he was trying to tell him.
Sam scratched his head awkwardly, his eyes still slightly wide with astonishment as he looked out the window, purposely turning away from Dean's burning gaze. "Oh, wow, umm, I didn't know that. You know, uhh, you probably just should have to told them to stop," he said, his cheeks tinted pink.
Dean kept his gaze on Sam's demeanor. "I did, lil bro, but saying "stop" to one doesn't automatically say "stop" to the rest of the horde." Dean's description made Sam's cheeks a brighter red and Dean continued, dynamic. "And then, my senior year, in Cedar Valley, Oklahoma, I think, there were these group of girls huddled together day after day, talking about you constantly- or from what I had seen- then swooning and nearly fainting every time you passed. Eventually I came up to them and nicely told them you weren't interested because they were seriously bordering on clinically insane."
Sam spun his head to him, almost artificial disbelief etched in his features, as if he really didn't want to believe Dean but was slowly starting to wonder, beginning to question it. Good.
Sam's eye twitched erratically. "Oh, come on, yeah right." He bit his lip, then, and Dean watched him mull it over, fighting the urge to smile. Sam's gaze turned to Dean before swiftly looking at the dashboard, then looked back to Dean again, more slowly. "Did they really do that?"
Dean smiled widely then. So he understood now. It wasn't perfect, but if Sam was more self-aware then, maybe, it'd be a little easier for him to point out the pedophiles and rapists in the future. But hopefully they wouldn't have to deal with that anymore.
But if they did. Hell, Dean would be more than ready to kick some more ass for his baby brother.
Dean patted his back happily. "They sure as hell did, Sammy." He sighed, content, though his mind was still partially lingering on the confrontation between that sick man and Sam. He still seethed merely thinking about it, that someone would try something on hisbaby brother, but he tried to think happy thoughts.
A genuine smile came about effortless as he turned to Sam again. "Ready to go home?"
Sam nodded ecstatically, his cheeks still a light pink. "Hell yeah."
Dean laughed, kicking his Impala into gear before driving her off into the beaming sunlight with Sammy by his side, the sweet breeze pouring softly through the cracked window a very surreal moment as the birds fluttered about, chirping beautiful and harmonic tunes of peace and eternal joy.
Paradise had to be somewhere, right?
Side note: this was initially a one-shot, but things happened and now it's 5 chapters. I hope that's a good