A/N: This is my first Supernatural fic, and I hope you all like it. It's based kind of on the show, kind of not. You'll see, I guess. The first chapter is based on the amazing fic by el spirito, Getting By, but the rest of it is mine. Each chapter will be named after different episodes of Supernatural that pertain to what's happening in the story at the time. I'll try to update as often as I can.

If You Dare Challenge - #627 (Broken Road)

Disclaimer: All this Supernatural beauty belongs to the writers, not me.

Dean wouldn't say it to Sammy, but he was terrified. Last night, his little brother had eaten the last of their bread and jam. They were out of milk as well; in fact, they had no food left in their tiny motel room. The brothers had been drinking from the sink all day, and while Dean knew from experience that Sam wouldn't complain about food until at least the second day, he didn't want him to go hungry. They still needed groceries. Dean sighed as Sammy watched television, trying to decide what to do. He didn't want to leave Sam alone, but he would never drag his brother out after dark, and they needed food for tomorrow. Finally, he made his decision. After Sam went to sleep, he snuck out of the hotel room, checking the protection sigils one last time and then closing the door behind him. He always hated leaving Sam behind; after all, it was his job to take care of him and watch over him, and every second Dean was gone was a second where seven-year-old Sam was vulnerable.

He wrapped his jacket tightly around himself. It was freezing outside, snowing relentlessly, but he would never ask Dad for money to buy a winter coat. Dean was a soldier, and soldiers were never weak. Being cold… That was weakness.

There was a store several blocks away that Dean visited when they were low on food. Unfortunately, the Winchesters had been staying in this small town for the past week; they had visited the store three times already for food. Dean hated it when people recognized him because it made it more difficult for them to avoid CPS. If they saw Dean and Sam living alone at a shady motel… Dean didn't ever want to be without his little brother. They'd been through Child Protective Services once, and… Long story short, he'd hated it.

Dean only had a dollar and some change left over from their previous excursions, so this would be their last run. John had promised he would return after three days; today was the eighth without him. Through his frequent experiences with his father's neglect, Dean had learned to stretch his money, but he could only stretch it so far. The snow stinging at his cheeks, he shivered, stepping gratefully into the store. He scraped his worn, soaked shoes across the mat, not wanting to track snow through the store.

As he entered, the cashier flashed him a warm smile, his bright blue eyes glowing.

Dean ducked his head, nodding mutely. He plunged his hand into his pocket, sliding his fingers across the single bill almost lovingly. He pulled the coins out of his pocket, shielding them with his other hand and carefully counting them. $2.71. That was his budget until John came back. Biting his lip, he counted again. $2.71. Bread was two dollars and fifty cents, milk was at least three dollars and twenty-five cents, and peanut butter…

He glanced over at the cashier. The dark-haired man was organizing a small rack of candy bars by color. Dean swallowed hard. He had resorted to thievery sometimes to feed his baby brother, and it seemed like today would be another one of those desperate times. He licked his chapped lips; his stomach churned with a painful mixture of anxiety and hunger. He'd given all of the rations for the past two days to Sammy, and he was now unusually light-headed. He headed for the bread, removing the softest loaf from the shelf. That would utilize most of his money. As he walked towards the register, stepping through two more aisles along the way, he slipped a small package of peanut butter crackers into his pocket. He plucked two more items from the shelves: an energy bar and a bottle of apple juice.

"Can I help you, kid?" The cashier's blue eyes meet his green ones for a split second.

Dean quickly looked down and mumbled a barely intelligible "no" in response. He didn't want to talk to him, even though the man had been nothing but kind to Dean. When they had first entered the store, he had tossed Sam an old action figure that had previously belonged to his nephew. When Sam and Dean had entered alone for the second time, he had given Dean and Sam each a pack of Skittles after they bought jam, bread, and some lunch meat.

Now, Dean regretted the purchase of those items; the meat had burned a hole in their pockets, and now they barely had enough to provide for another meal. He shoved the bread onto the counter, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. "That it?"
He nodded in response, dropping his crumpled bill and change next to the loaf of bread. Smiling gently, the cashier took the money from him and pushed it into the cash register. "Here's your change," he told the boy. The cashier frowned, spotting a large, dark bruise on the boy's face as the child grabbed the coins and his bread. The area around his eye was swollen and purple, yellowed at the edges. "What happened?" he asked as the boy turned to leave.

Dean ignored him. Like he was going to spill all of his secrets to a stranger. Even if he wanted to, he was too exhausted to do much more than shuffle away from the counter. He stayed up most nights watching Sammy, redoing the salt lines, and making rock salt bullets. When he went (which was rare), he barely slept at school; teachers and other students were constantly waking him. The only time he slept was in the afternoon when his brother was doing his homework.

He tightened his grasp on the plastic bag and kept walking, pulling his hood further over his head to cover the bruised section of his face. "Hey!" the cashier called out. Again, he refused to respond to the man, heading through the double doors and into the cold.

It took him a second to realize that the sudden onslaught of needles against his face was actually snow. He could barely see his fingers in front of him; he held up one arm to shield his eyes from the blizzard. His thin jacket gave him little protection from the snow, so he shivered violently, trying to stay warm by wrapping his skinny arms around his torso. The motel was only seven blocks away; Dean could make it. He staggered forwards, squinting into the blinding white. After all, he was a soldier. His father always told him to never—

Something slammed, hard and fast, into Dean's right side, throwing him backwards. His back met the window first, shattering the glass, and then his head struck a hard surface, sending his mind reeling with pain until it surged into darkness.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really appreciate everyone's support. Please follow, favorite, and review! I'll be posting the next chapter soon.