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Runaway Train

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It wasn't ideal, hell it wasn't even legal, he was only sixteen. Not even old enough to be in this bar but Sammy was hungry. He'd been hungry for days but was just too considerate to admit it. And Dean wasn't going to let him starve. Who knew when John was going to be back. He'd said three days and handed Dean forty bucks. But it had been two weeks. Two weeks cooped up in a grimy motel room with crappy, day-time TV for entertainment in a town with only one bar and no pool tables.

Food wasn't exactly cheap and the forty bucks had dried up fast. They had used the last of it two days ago at the gas station on the far end of the minuscule town. Dean should have seen it coming when John had paid in advance for an entire month to the motel but he'd been stupid. Naive. He had more faith in John than he should and he knew it. He'd honestly thought that John wouldn't let his kids go hungry. But it would be stupid to keep riding on that faith when there were ways to put food in Sam's stomach.

He couldn't shark the pool tables and he didn't have enough faith in his skill to bet any money on his poker game, even if they had any, but he knew the way that men looked at him out of the corner of their eyes in the dim-lit bars when they thought he wasn't looking. He knew that, for a boy, he had abnormally feminine features. Soft, pink lips; wide, green eyes; rosier cheeks.

When an older man had not-so-surreptitiously looked him up and down earlier tonight, he had considered turning tail and running. Run down to the gas station or convenience store and slip a few much needed items into his jacket. But he knew he couldn't risk getting caught again--if he did it wouldn't do Sam any good. The kid would be abandoned by his brother and father with no good way of feeding himself. So Dean had swallowed his hesitation and fear and flashed the man a smirk before heading off towards the bathrooms in the back, maintaining eye contact for just a little bit longer than what could be considered normal.

For a moment he had prayed to whatever god may be listening that the man would have missed his blatant signal. But when the man had swaggered through the bathroom door two seconds after him, he knew it was for the best. Whatever happened in the back of this bar at least Sam would have a full stomach tonight.

No more than ten minutes later found him alone in the bathroom. Twenty bucks crammed unceremoniously in his back pocket and the stale taste a beer that he didn't drink on his tongue. He could feel bile rise in the back of his throat and no matter how much he scrubbed his hands under the scalding water, he couldn't get the feel of the stranger off of him.

That night he returned to the motel room with a fake smile and one of those fancy, microwave dinners for Sam along with some bullshit lie about finding twenty bucks in his duffel bag. His little brother didn't even think to question his words and enthusiastically shoveled forkful after forkful of spaghetti noodles drenched in cheap sauce into his mouth, slightly moaning in appreciation as if the dinner had come from a four star restaurant.

Dean didn't eat for two days.