Summary
A Bitter Sacrifice
Highlights
The Price of Survival
Dean endures a traumatic encounter, focusing on the need to provide thirty dollars for his young, hungry brother, Sammy. Despite his desire to fight back, he suppresses his anger and physical pain to ensure he secures the money.
The Humiliation
The perpetrator leaves the money in a puddle and subjects Dean to degrading physical contact. Dean maintains his composure, forcing himself to smile and play along to ensure the man leaves without further escalation.
The Aftermath
Despite possessing the skills to potentially harm the assailant, Dean prioritizes Sammy's needs above his own pride. Once the man finally departs, Dean is left alone to collect the wet, cold bills from the pavement, struggling physically to rise to his feet.
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Original text
The guy drops the money on the pavement in front of him and tousles his hair roughly. Like Dad does. The thought makes him want to scream, lunge forward and headbutt the bastard in the crotch, force exploding up and out like Dad showed him, teach you you son of a bitch…
He doesn't. Too busy trying not to puke for one thing, the taste lingering heavy and salty, hot in the back of his throat, the ache in his jaw that's not that bad really, not at all really.
They need the money. Sammy's hungry. He's only nine and a half and he's hungry. And this is thirty dollars. That's a lot. That's at least two weeks of food.
It rained earlier and there's damp bleeding in through the knees of his jeans and the guy gets himself tucked away and this is the part where he's supposed to just fucking leave.
The bills are lying in a puddle. A twenty, a five and five ones. And the guy doesn't leave. He cups Dean's cheek like he's a girl or something and he leans down and oh hell fucking no kisses him on the mouth.
So good, he murmurs, thumb against Dean's cheekbone, breath rank in his face. Pretty. And Dean has to clench his teeth to keep from biting him.
Anytime, the guy says. You find me anytime. I'll be around.
Dean's thirteen and a pretty skinny thirteen at that but he's been through the John Winchester School of Asskicking since he was big enough to make a fist and he can think of five ways off the top of his head that he could do this half drunk sicko some serious damage. Lay him out on his ass in the alley and make him think twice about ever trying this shit again.
Sammy, he thinks and he looks up, grins, cocky and slow like he knows what the hell he's doing. Yeah, sure, he says and finally fucking finally the guy's walking back towards the lot where his fancy ass car is parked.
The bills are limp, cold and wet in his hand when he scoops them out of the puddle and there's nobody there to see that it takes him three tries to get up to his feet.