Category: Gen (wee!chester to preseries!chester)
Rating: Adult themes
Word Count: 1,500
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: A companion of sorts to Tired Most Of The Time, Exhausted The Rest but is standalone.
Summary: Injuries - not from the hunt
The taco stand on the side of the road is like something out of a dream. Both Sam and Dean hold their breath, knowing if they ask then John will pass by it without a backward glance. Silence is rewarded however as the Impala veers and then turns in. Both boys wait patiently, not risking even an excited bounce until they are actually parked.
“I’m getting a burrito bigger than my head,” Dean announces as he slides out of the passenger seat. John just raises an eyebrow at him.
“I’m getting a Fa-jy-ta,” Sam responds and John smacks a hand to his mouth to hold in the snort.
“It’s pronounced Fa-hee-ta,” he corrects, smiling at a woman passing by with three little girls in tow.
He’s only gone a few minutes ordering, but when he returns to the plastic chairs and table he left his boys at, Sam is holding a hand to a bloody lip and Dean is stalking back from the small play area, his face stormy.
“What the hell?” John demands.
“One of the big kids pushed me off the chair and Dean kicked their ass,” Sam says, eyes wide and full of adoration as he watches his brother reach them. John looks past Dean’s shoulder and sees there is a kid lying underneath the swings wailing and kicking his legs.
“We’re taking this to go,” John says quickly, herding his boys back towards the car, freeing a hand to rub over Dean’s head.
John gets the call from the school, his son has been in a fight and he automatically thinks, Dean.
Which is why he is caught by surprise when the school nurse leads him into the small sick bay and Sam is sitting on the low bed, staring at his shoes.
“Hey kiddo,” John greets, not really sure how to proceed. He had all the usual Dean-related words mapped out in his mind but this is Sam and he’s at a loss. He’s recognised that his boys need a different hand and he wasn’t expecting, with Sam being the quiet bookish one, to deal with something like this.
“Hey,” Sam responds, his voice barely audible. He’s looking sullen and that’s not usual either. He gets quiet sometimes and John wonders just what’s going on in his brain, but he’s for the most part been the happy kid. John supposes he doesn’t have the memory of fire like Dean does.
“So, someone’s trying to tell me that you beat a kid up but I’m having trouble believin’ it,” John says, rounding the small bed and dropping his ass onto the edge. The thing’s made of whicker and creaks ominously.
“I did,” Sam says, jutting his chin a little. It’s not a proud one, like it would be in Dean. It’s more defensive.
“Now why would you go and do something like that?”
“’Cause Andy Thompkins said you were a drunk and you beat me up,” Sam says in a rush, his small fists balling tight. John feels like he’s been hit in the chest. “But it’s not true. I told him to take it back and he wouldn’t.”
“Well, you still shouldn’t have hit him,” John says but he believes Sam will know what the long pause means.
Dean lay on the ground, blinking up at the sky.
He thinks he may have heard his Dad yell, but something hurtled straight into him and he woke up about ten feet away from where he remembered standing.
“Are you okay?” Dean manages to tear his eyes away from the sky so he can see that Sam is leaning over him, eyes red-rimmed and wide. His voice sounds scared and Dean wants to reach up and touch his face, reassure him that everything is fine but his arm won’t listen to the command his brain is trying to make.
It comes back slowly. Their dad saying, “Wait for me,” as he unpacked the trunk of the Impala. They were across the road from the motel because there were no spots left in the parking area. Sam was standing next to him one minute and in the middle of the street the next and Dean didn’t think, he just moved.
“I didn’t see them, oh god, I didn’t see them!” someone is wailing in the background and Dean lets Sam get an arm behind his back and push until he’s sitting up.
“Dean, Jesus,” his dad says, hunkering down next to Sam, sounding breathless. He spares a glance back at the person wailing and snaps, “Would you just shutup!”
“I think I’m okay,” Dean says and he’s not sure how that’s possible if a car hit him. His dad is looking pale and has one hand on Sam and one is curled around Dean’s foot.
“Yeah, you were just clipped by the rearvision mirror I think. We should go get that arm looked at though.”
“Okay,” Dean nods and even though he’s fourteen and way too old, he lets his dad scoop him up and carry him back to the car, Sam with a hand fisted in his shirt and being dragged along behind them.
“You got some speed on you, kiddo,” his dad says and Dean forgets all about the pain in his arm from the simple praise.
Sam supposes it is only right that he hears his dad’s voice in his ear when he is getting the crap beaten out of him.
Stay on your feet
Sam had tried, he really had but someone had hit him in the back with what felt like a baseball bat and he’d gone down. He caught a flash of a football jersey and then he was kicked in the knee and the pain was almost unreal.
If you go down, you won’t get up again
He tries though. He really does. He rolls onto his stomach and tries to get his legs and arms underneath him and someone puts a foot on his back. There are hands reaching into his clothing, going through his pockets and for a crazy moment he wonders if Dean would ever forgive him for getting killed by something as mundane as a mugging. The foot has moved up and is now pressed on the back of his neck. There is gravel pressing painfully into his face.
Sam scissors his legs to get leverage and manages to clip one of his attackers. The pressure on his neck disappears for the crucial second he needs to get turned over and he rolls, getting to his feet shakily. He knows at this point in the proceedings Dean would say something snarky but Sam is having a lot of trouble focusing.
“Hey!” Sam isn’t sure what comes first, the shout or the gunshot but a moment later he is completely alone, nothing for company but the sound of scattering feet. Sam reaches out and finds he is near a wall that he collapses against gratefully. He knows as soon as he stops moving his knee will become a frozen misery but he is just so tired.
“Oh hey, no going to sleep now,” a voice says and Sam feels himself hauled upright by hands under his arms.
“Who…?” Sam tries to ask but everything is going grey and indistinct at the edges.
The next time he opens his eyes, he is lying on a white bed and Dean is helping himself to a tray of food that is by his side.
“Did you find me?” Sam asks and Dean drops the apple he’d been working through and snorts.
“Nice to see your eyes open. You look like crap by the way,” Dean says but he is grinning so hard that Sam knows he is just trying to hide his relief under bravado.
“Someone stopped them. Thought it was you,” Sam says, sipping gratefully at the juice Dean holds out to him.
“Nah, Dad and I didn’t get back into town till tonight. Apparently some crazy shopkeeper with a shotgun saved your ass.”
“Did he leave his name?”
“No. I asked but the nurses said he wouldn’t. They told me he called a little while ago though to check you were going to be okay.” Dean rubs his fists into his eyes. “If I could just get my hands on the animals that-“
“There’s good people,” Sam says, sitting up a little.
“There’s good people around. I was just… I was beginning to wonder.”
“You got beaten to hell and what you get out of it is there are good people?” Dean asks, chuckling and shaking his head. “Only you, Sammy.”
“I wasn’t sure what to do,” John says, looking out the window.
Dean looks up from his bowl of microwaved soup, the only thing he can keep down at the moment. “Sure you did,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Fluids and temperature and crap.”
“No, I mean… you kept asking for Sam.”