5Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
001
His pants are pushed down around his ankles, his face is pushed into the leather seat, some guy's pushing on top of him, and all he can think about is a bacon cheeseburger.
In about three minutes, Dean will be able to slink out of the cab of the truck, into the shadows. He'll make it back to the motel that is almost directly across the street from this truck stop and no one will see him. Sammy won't see him, the gas attendants wont see him, the guy on top of him will drive off and Dean will have fifty bucks in his back pocket. And he'll buy a cheeseburger because he and Sam haven't eaten anything in two days except the free samples at the wall-mart in town.
"Fuck, you're so fucking pretty, fuck-" the guy starts practically yelling.
"Shut up," he says. It's better if they don't talk, but some of the guys at these gas stations turn out to be freaks. The last one tried to bite him. This one's not so bad- plus, he was easy. Dean just had to stand under the light by the gas pumps and look his way. Dean's not the only kid who stands under these lights; the truckers know the standard price.
Sometimes, when he does it, Dean imagines what Dad would say if he ever found out what he was doing. But Dad didn't leave any grocery money and Dad's been gone for almost two weeks on this hunting trip. Dean's no fag, but he's hungry. Sam's hungry.
When he's done, the guy grabs Dean's hips roughly and flips him over with surprise force. For a flash of a second, Dean panics, but then he remembers the switch blade in sock.
"Here," the guy says, throwing the cash down. It lands on Dean's bare hip.
The guy's eyes are all full of pride, like he's just scored. Like he's congratulating himself on fucking Dean.
But it's not fucking, it's dinner.