Take Out The Gunman

4

"Time to head home, Sunshine," Dean greeted Garth as his partner climbed into the car.
"Uh-huh," the other man returned, "Coffee?"
He chuckled as he handed the other man a cup of coffee: It had been a long couple of days, and both of them needed the caffeine.

"I'm going to stop by the safe house and check on Sam on the way. Want to ride with, or should I drop you at home first?"
Garth took a sip of his coffee before answering, "I'll ride with."

Three days had passed since finding Sam in the clutches of John Winchester, and taking him from the drug dealer's house. Dean had stopped by the morning after they had set him up in the apartment, but they had been caught up in a case late into the night last night, and he hadn't had the chance to stop in and check on the kid in person. The officer sitting watch outside the house had reported everything to be quiet, but Dean wanted to know for himself how the kid was doing.

They pulled in front of the safe house fifteen minutes later and climbed out of the car. Dean shot Garth a smirk as he saw that the other man was still carrying his coffee. He tapped on the door and waited: when he didn't hear an answer, and the door wasn't opened, he knocked again, a bit louder.

"Maybe he's in the shower," Garth reasoned two minutes later, when there was still no answer.

A third knock and no answer had Dean pulling out his keys and the extra safe house key he had on his ring. He glanced at Garth, whom placed his coffee cup on the ground to pull his gun, before unholstering his own weapon. He unlocked the door and carefully pushed it open, alert for any signs of danger.

They had cleared the house two minutes later of any obvious signs of danger, but hadn't found the boy they had stopped in to see.
"Officer Bryant says he hasn't left the house," Garth informed, hanging up his cell phone, "He's gotta be here some place."

"Sam," Dean strode through the house as he holstered his weapon, checking the rooms, "Sammy!" He was about to leave one of the bedrooms when a noise caught his attention.

"Sammy?"

"Dean?" the voice was muffled, quiet, but obviously Sam's.

Dean moved quickly to the closet and opened the door: the light shining in from the bedroom revealed the missing young man. Sam was huddled into the closet's corner, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. His eyes were frightened and confused, and tears tracked down his cheeks.

"Sam," Dean breathed a sigh of relief and knelt in front of the boy, "Are you okay? What are you doing in here?"

"Too big," came the whispered response, "I – it's too big, I didn't –" He trailed off as a sob escaped him.

Dean leaned in to take hold of the kid's arm and pull the boy to him without any real thought behind the action. He pulled the young man into his arms, and Sam tensed for a moment. Dean was thinking he had made a mistake and was about to release him, when the boy practically melted into his embrace. He held the boy close, and Sam buried his face against Dean's chest.

"You okay?" he asked softly, bringing a hand up to stroke the young man's hair. Sam nodded, shook his head no, nodded again.
"I don't know," the young man whispered miserably, "I don't know what to do here. It's too big."

"It's okay," Dean soothed, stroking his fingers through the longish chestnut hair. His fingers slid through the locks and found the back of the young man's neck, and he traced his fingertips over the skin there in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He felt the full-body shiver that coursed through the other, and realization struck him.  The kid had been locked in what had been almost a closet for a long time, by a man who was afraid to touch him for fear of being "corrupted". He hadn't had anyone else in his life other than John Winchester for years, quite literally: the kid was touch-starved. Dean closed his eyes as his mind was bombarded with implications of what it had been like, to be locked up and quite literally alone, except for a crazy drug dealer.

"It's okay," he repeated again, his own voice little more than a whisper. He slid a hand down the young man's back, trying to offer him some comfort and safety, and Sam shivered again.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Garth standing in the doorway. He gave the other man a nod, indicating that everything was alright, and Garth returned the gesture and left the room. His green gaze moved back to the boy in his arms. The young man had stopped crying, it seemed, and was practically arching into Dean's hand, which was rubbing his back.

"Been a long time since anyone has held you, huh?" he asked gently.  The other boy tried to pull away, cheeks flushing red, and he smiled down at him.

"It's okay," he said, continuing his rubbing of Sam's back, "It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."
Sam made a sound that was almost a whimper and slid his arms around Dean's waist, leaning in closer to the man.

They sat like that for several minutes longer: it was the ringing of Dean's cell phone that made him pull away, finally. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at it, before flicking it open.

"Captain," he greeted the man at the other end. He listened for a moment before speaking,
"He's.. not handling this place well."
"Yeah, not used to it."
"No, no. I don't think that's the answer."

He listened for a moment longer before answering his Captain's question of "What do we do with him, then?"

His green eyes dropped to Sam, who was watching him, trust in his hazel gaze. He shot the boy a smile – Sam returned it with a slight smile of his own – before telling his Captain, "I'm going to take him back to my place. He trusts me, and he's afraid here on his own. He can stay with me until he figures things out for himself. Yeah, I'm certain."

With a 'thanks, Bobby,' Dean ended the call. He glanced down at Sam again as the young man whispered,

"I – I can go with you?"

"Yeah," he carded his fingers through Sam's hair – the young man's eyes slid shut at the gesture, "You can come with me. Come on, let's go home.