Sam and Dean Winchester had been thrown into the adoption system when Sam was five and Dean was nine. It had been found out by a neighbor that their father had been abusing and neglecting his sons ever since the death of his wife - Mary. Everything after that was a cacophony of social workers and foster families. The brothers had been separated, Dean had been taken in by a man named Bobby, and Sam learned quickly not to trust anyone. Everyone he trusted abandoned him. Eventually, he ran away from a particularly abusive foster family and he had been living on the streets ever since - that had been a year ago and Sam was good at dodging authorities. He was only fifteen, soon to turn sixteen. If he got caught, he'd be thrown right back into the god awful system with the label 'runaway' in his file, that was never a good thing. So he lived the best he could. Occasionally going into a homeless shelter when it got cold, but he tried not to risk that when he could avoid it, it would raise some questions. He cleaned up in gas stations and convenience stores, using the public bathroom sinks as a makeshift shower. Today, he ducked into a local coffee shop intending on doing just that when his jaw dropped and he froze. Dean was at the counter, ordering. He would recognize that face anywhere, those eyes too. He wanted to run, but he couldn't move. He just stared, in shock.

Dean grabbed his hot chocolate from the smokin' chic at the counter. He whispered a few sweet words in her ear in the hopes of getting her number, but as he turned he glimpsed from the corner of his eye a vaguely familiar sight. Something that could only have been the shaggy, ruffled, brown hair of someone whom he hadn't seen in far too long. All thoughts of that chic vanished. It was his brother, Sam. He looked again, and it was unmistakably him. Sam seemed frozen. He was just staring. Dean didn't quite know what to do. Sam looked really, really scruffy. He was wearing a red, plaid, button down shirt with a dark grey singlet underneath. The singlet looked like it hadn't been clean in years, it had numerous amounts of small holes and the shorts, man, if he thought the singlet looked bad.. the shorts were another story, they were denim and ripped, not because of style though, they looked like someone had been tearing at the shorts with nails and been ripping them with fingers.
"Hey, there's someone behind you, can you move to the side,"
the chic at the counter said, breaking him out of his daydream, it was blatant that she was slightly irritated. He must have been standing there for longer than he remembered. Sam was still staring. Dean made a start to walk over to Sammy. He looked much older than when he last saw him, mind you, that was a decade ago. He had reached Sam. What should he say? He nervously started,
"Um, Sammy?"

Sam almost flinched when he saw Dean starting to approach him and numerous things ran through his head as he decided on a suitable way to get out of this situation. He was exhausted, bags under his eyes. He normally was exhausted but he was about ready to just collapse. He was hungry too, he hadn't been able to eat anything in days. He was hoping to get something to eat before the day was out but this harsh winter wasn't treating anything right and food was practically scarce. No fruit stores were open so that Sam could nab a few of the fruits in the stands outside - so that sucked. He knew he looked torn up and rattled, he probably looked like a proper homeless kid. He only meant to come into the coffee shop to clean using one of the sinks in the public bathroom and now he was frozen on his spot, looking at his big brother whom he hadn't seen in 10 years.
Sam's voice was quiet. He wasn't really used to talking to anyone and he didn't know what to say. He was scared that Dean was going to call the agency and get the agency to take him back. He didn't want to go to a foster home again. He couldn't go back to his previous one, never again. Sam turned on the spot and hurriedly made his way out of the coffee store and out onto the cold and snowy streets, he had to get away, so Dean didn't call the cops and get him forcefully taken away. His shoes - which had holes in them and were uncomfortable - were wet and freezing on his feet as the snow and cold seeped in and the clothes he was wearing was definitely not suitable for winter. He was freezing, exhausted and hungry, yet, he had to get away.

Dean was somewhat surprised when Sammy ran out of the coffee shop. It took him a few moments to process what had just happened. Dean thought Sam would be a little pleased to see him. He definitely did not expect this kind of a reaction. It had been ten years! Ten years since he'd seen his brother, and Sammy just runs away! He returned to focus, and ran in the same direction that Sam had, out the coffee shop.
"Sam! Sammy wait!"
By the time he was out, Sam had already run quite far down the street. He only just saw his dark locks as Sam turned down, what seemed to be a dark, dank alley. He was definitely not going to let Sam run away that easily. It had been ten years! He wanted to know how his little brother was doing. Dean turned the same way Sam had, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was a dead end. There were a few rubbish bins and rubbish, lots of it, strewn just about everywhere. He walked a few steps down the alley, all the while looking around for his brother. He opened the last bin in the alley, and Sam jumped out, kicking him straight in the face. Today had been a bundle of surprises he thought as he clutched his now bleeding nose. He looked up and saw Sam's wide eyes as well as his hesitation.

It had been out of habit, he had learned to grow up on the streets for a year, of course he had developed some form of martial arts to help defend himself. He knew that he was cornered, trapped even and Dean wouldn't let him get away. He backed off when he realized what he had done to Dean and he cowered in the corner.
"Oh god- Please... I didn't mean it... I didn't mean it! Please don't call the cops! I don't want to go back to the systems please!"
Sam begged as he tried to curl into the smallest ball he could. He had made Dean /bleed/, now he was going to get it. He was expecting punches and kicks and all sorts from Dean now that he had hurt him and he couldn't watch, he had to close his eyes, squeeze them shut and hope that the pain wouldn't last that long.
"Please... Please don't hurt me..."
He was quieter now, acting almost as if he were an animal, lashing out when scared and now submitting when it knew it was defeated. Dean was going to call the agency, give him back to the systems, they were going to get him back to the foster family he had before and they were going to finish their job - they would properly kill him this time and he didn't want that. he didn't do anything to deserve death, not when he had abided to every rule they had set. Sam continued to cower in the corner, muttering reassurances to himself quietly and shutting his eyes, expecting pain.

He watched his brother retreat to a corner. He heard his whispers. Dean was angry, he was very angry. Not at Sam though, how could he be angry at Sam, all he wanted to do was protect him. Dean was angry at who or what had made him act this way. What happened to the bright, curious little boy that wasn't afraid. That wasn't afraid... He approached Sam with caution, he was still whimpering.
"Sammy, I'm not going to hurt you"
Dean reached out a hand, slow and tender like. Sam cowered at his touch. It seemed to make Sam react even more negatively. He took a few steps back, this wasn't his Sammy, this could never be him. It would be best to walk away, pretend that this never happened because his Sammy wasn't the kid cowering in front of him.
"I'm sorry..."
Dean said as he back stepped all the way out of the alley, taking once last glance to Sam before turning and running to his car, he had to get away, he couldn't be involved with a shell of what used to be Sam.

"It'll be okay Sammy, it'll be okay. Daddy isn't going to hurt you no more. Mommy is dead, knife on the floor, Daddy isn't going to hurt you no more."
Sam was whispering. These words, something Sam actually repeated to himself in times of distraction - he didn't know whether it helped him calm down or made him brace more for the flying fists and kicks to bruise parts around his body. This rhyme, something he made during his second foster family at the age of 10 was made when Sam was forced in the cupboard to listen to the screams of his foster mom as she was accidentally murdered. Of course - he was pulled out of that foster home as soon as the police had arrived, the agency along with them. He rocked back and forth a little, chest tightening as he brought his hands to cover his ears and hold onto his head. He felt like he was going insane, except this always happened when his safety was breached, when he felt like he was going to be hurt because even a year after all the beatings - he was still cowering under anyone who could hurt him.