Good morning! Here's a little pre-series fic I've had sitting around for awhile and got the urge to polish up and post. A little bit of whump, a bit of mystery, some humor and a pinch of fluff. :) Enjoy!
Dean - 18, Sam 14.
Punch 'em in the Face
"What the hell were you thinking, Sammy?" Dean asked, his chances of getting a coherent answer hovering somewhere in the vicinity of a big, fat zero.
Sam moved a little - and wasn't that a relief? - then his face thumped back against Dean's chest.
Taking a deep breath, Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder, keeping him from flopping back down into the dirt. He took a quick look around the area, muttering, "You are so stupid, you know that?"
Whether Sam did or not, he wasn't saying; Dean was muttering to himself.
"Just keep breathing, ok?" He continued muttering to himself. "We gotta get out of here. Should never have been here in the first place."
It was true. They shouldn't have been here. Dad had specifically, repeatedly, loudly told them not to go anywhere near the party. He'd known about it even before they had, which was funny since he barely seemed to keep up with their grades let alone their social lives.
Regardless, Dad had told them not to go and yet here they were. Thankfully, he was gone on a hunt and wasn't supposed to be back for three more days which meant Dean had three days to magically heal his brother.
Judging by the blood, it was going to be impossible.
"Damn it!" He shook his head, shifting his brother's face, trying to get a better look at the damage. "Not good, not good. We gotta go."
The thump thump thump of the bass droned on in the background, spiking a headache which Dean really didn't need at the moment considering his brother was half conscious at best and half beat to death at worst.
Dean glanced around, relieved that the two thugs were still down and all the way unconscious. Thankful for the cover of darkness, Dean got to his feet and dragged Sam up with him. If they could get out of here before anyone saw them, they'd be fine.
"Come on, Sam, need you to help me out here," he whispered right in his brother's ear. "Stand up. Now."
Sam groaned, but locked his knees which was the first sign he was even somewhat alert.
"Good job. Ok. Come on, I've got ya."
He'd gotten here almost too late and even now didn't know how badly his brother was injured. He needed to know and he needed to know sooner rather than later, but knowing would do a fat lot of good if the thugs had friends who came looking for them. All he could hope was that he wasn't doing any damage while he tried to get them away from the mess.
Pulling Sam's arm over his shoulders, he grabbed him by the wrist to hold him up. It was awkward and Sam gasped in pain, but it was going to have to do. He wrapped his other hand around Sam's belt and tugged him forward.
"Ok, here we go. Lean on me. I've got you, just keep moving."
Sam wasn't so much moving as he was being dragged along, but at least he hadn't fallen flat to the ground. Yet.
"What did you get in the middle of?" Dean asked himself because Sam sure as heck wasn't going to be answering questions anytime soon.
Sam, as expected, didn't answer.
"Just get to the car. Just gotta get to the car." Dean groaned, stumbling over the uneven ground. "Get outta here. Get you fixed up. Gonna be ok."
Dean glanced over his shoulder. No one was moving behind them and the party seemed to be going on uninterrupted.
He didn't stop forward movement even at the sound of Sam's voice, but he leaned down a pinch and tried to get a glimpse of his brother's face past the disheveled mess of his hair.
"Hey, how're you doing?"
No answer. Just a soft groan.
Dean tightened his grip when Sam started sinking toward the ground.
"Nuh uh. Do not fall down," he instructed. "Keep moving."
Sam's breaths were harsh in his ear and Dean had to force himself to tune out his brother's pain. They couldn't stop. If they stopped, they were going to get caught.
The Impala was too far away, but he was glad he'd parked it where he had. Less attention the better.
They'd made it to the edge of the woods before Sam wilted to the ground despite Dean's best efforts to keep him upright.
"Crap," Dean muttered, trying to ease his brother's descent. "Break time, ok, I get it. We'll take a breather. Give you a minute then we'll get out of here."
Sam didn't answer, just slumped heavily against him.
It was too dark. Too dark to see details. Too dark to know how badly his brother had been beaten by the two upperclassmen. He'd found him almost too late; another moment or two longer and he wasn't sure Sam would still be alive.
"What the hell were you thinking? Ever heard about picking on people your own size?" Dean muttered, checking for a pulse and finding one that was beating too quickly, but beating all the same.
His fingers were slick with his brother's blood and it left him sick to his stomach. This was not how things were supposed to go. He didn't even know how they'd wound up in this mess.
Less than an hour ago, Sam's nose had been buried in a history textbook and Dean had been finishing off a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew while watching a truly horrible B movie marathon. Holed up in the motel, they'd had a pizza and a gigantic bag of candy to share and nowhere to go and nothing to do. But then he'd blinked. Or gone to the bathroom. Or something.
And Sam had disappeared.
He'd taken at least ten years of Dean's life with him. Even now, Dean's hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, and he was more terrified than he would ever admit. The initial confusion at discovering his brother hadn't been in the room with him had rapidly given way to frantic searching and then sheer panic. Worst case scenarios had run through his head: demon, kidnapper, demon-kidnapper.
Once he'd regained some sense, he'd called his brother's phone but it had simply gone to voicemail. He hadn't been in the room, hadn't left a note, hadn't answered his phone and Dean had been beside himself with fear. Tracking his brother's phone had led him to the rowdy party. More confused than ever, he'd torn through the end of semester party's drunken revelry until he'd found his brother out back.
"What were you thinking?" Dean asked again because repetition was the key to success.
The silent treatment continued, but at least Sam kept breathing. The questions and the far more important answers were just going to have to wait.
Looking back the way they'd come, Dean didn't see anyone following them. He hoped the thugs were going to be down for a long time. At least one of them would be. He knew exactly how hard he'd taken the second guy down. Guy number one had already been down on the ground when Dean had arrived. Nose obviously broken, he'd been sprawled out in the dirt. Unconscious.
Despite the circumstances, a rush of pride filled him. He didn't have a clue what had happened before he'd gotten there, but Sam had clearly taken that guy down. All by himself. A guy at least twice his size. Of course, by the time Dean had arrived, guy number two had been in the process of beating Sam to death.
Shaking his head, Dean pulled his brother upright again.
"Alright. You got the break. You need to talk to me or I'm carrying you out of here like a sack of potatoes."
It took another minute or two of persistent threats before Sam roused.
"Sam?" Dean prompted when he saw his brother fighting to open his eyes.
"Words, Sam. I need to hear words."
You asked for words. He gave you words. Slurred and confused, but words.
Dean tapped his brothers cheek and said, "How 'bout we worry about what happened after we get you out of here?"
"Wh'happn'd?" Sam repeated, his words slipping together even more. He blinked, then widened his eyes comically. "Dean?"
"Yeah. Right here."
If it wasn't so frustrating, it would've been hilarious.
"Can you get up?" Dean asked.
For crying out loud! Dean shook his head. This wasn't working. They didn't have time for this.
"Ok." He gritted his teeth. "Upsie daisy."
"Daisy," Sam repeated cluelessly.
Rolling his eyes, Dean wrapped both arms around his brother's chest and dragged him to his feet.
Sam stiffened, crying out in pain.
"Sorry, sorry," Dean muttered, shifting his grip and locking his knees. Nothing had given way under his fingers, but that didn't mean there weren't things broken that he hadn't found yet.
He tried to keep a steadying hold on his brother while also attempting not to crush him. Maybe it would be easier if he did just carry his brother out like a sack of potatoes. If this kept up, it was going to be his only option.
"Ow. Ow." Sam's head connected against Dean's collarbone with a hard thump. He gasped, his breathing uneven.
"Sorry," Dean said again.
"I know. We gotta get out of here."
Dean peered into the darkness. The car seemed so far away. He resolutely dragged his brother forward. Sam was saying ow every few steps they took which actually made Dean feel better. If he was alert enough to whine, maybe he was going to be alright.
Wanting to take advantage of whatever minimal awareness Sam was willing to give him, Dean asked, "Can you tell me your name?"
"Good job. One point for you. When's your birthday?"
"Uh…ow! Slow…I can't… uh…" He stumbled, then asked, "When's what?"
"Your birthday." Dean steered them around a tree.
"It's my birthday?"
One point for the concussion.
Dean almost smiled, but Sam was dragging his feet more and more. Trying to capitalize on his success so far, he said, "Tell me who I am."
Sam ground to a complete halt at that and tried to pull away.
"Hey! Where are you…what are you doing?" He grabbed both of Sam's shoulders; facing him as he tried to hold him up. "Sammy?"
Glazed eyes narrowed as Sam stared at him, wavering from side to side in Dean's hold.
Dean leaned down and asked again, "What are you doing?"
"I…I…" Sam's voice trailed off.
"You you what?"
"I think I hit m'head."
"Actually someone else hit your head, but yeah." Dean frowned, ducking down to meet Sam's gaze. "What's my name?"
"Dean." Sam looked more puzzled by the second.
"Ok, two points for you," Dean said, shifting his grip and pulling his brother close to his side again and starting to move forward.
"Mmhm. If you get enough points, I'll buy you some ice cream." He'd buy just about anything if it would keep his brother moving. The sounds of the party were far behind them now and if they could just get to the car and out of here, they'd be good. "You want some ice cream?"
"Mmmhmm," Sam murmured, suddenly listing toward the ground.
"No, no, no, no you don't!"
Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, grabbing Sam's face with his free hand. His eyes were rolling around like spare change and, even in the darkness, the deathly pallor of his skin stood out.
"Sam!" he raised his voice not quite to a shout, but loud enough that Sam's eyes snapped open. "Keep your eyes open, Sam. You hear me?"
"Bossy." Sam's eyes widened and he reached out with both hands to grab Dean's jacket. "Hey."
"Hey." Dean brushed hair back from Sam's eyes, the warm slick of blood on his fingertips.
"When'd you…get here?"
"Just barely in time," Dean muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, "Ten minutes ago."
Sam didn't pull away, but tried to look around as far as he could while Dean was still holding his chin. He asked, "Where's here?"
"The woods. You went to a party. Can we start walking again?"
His statements proved to be too much for his brother's muddled brain. Sam's eyes fluttered closed, then opened again and he said, "I feel sick."
"I bet you do," Dean said, anticipating what was about to happen. "You gonna puke?"
"Yeah you are. And you're not doing it in my car, so you might as well do it right now." Dean shifted so he wasn't directly in front of his brother and got a better grip on him. "Go ahead."
"Go where?" Sam looked up at him in utter confusion. His skin was slick with sweat and he was panting and swallowing hard and absolutely refusing to throw up.
"Never mind. Come on."
Dean lugged him forward again. Might as well keep moving until Sam lost the battle.
"Where are we?"
"You went to a party," Dean said, cursing himself for his lapse in attention that had permitted his brother to leave the safety of the motel room and go to the wild party Dad had forbade them both to go to in the first place.
"A party?" Sam asked, as the Impala came into sight.
"Yeah. The one Dad specifically told us not to go to."
"Well, that doesn't sound like me, does it?"
He sounded so coherent and sensible that Dean couldn't help but laugh. And that was, of course, the moment Sam leaned forward to puke. Dean barely caught him in time.
Cringing, he kept one arm wrapped around Sam's chest while he braced his forehead with his other hand. Sam's knees were rubber and it was a good thing he was skinny or Dean would've dropped him.
"Sammy, Sammy," Dean whispered, "what the hell were you thinking?"
He didn't get an answer, just more puking.
After a few moments, the vomiting petered out and Sam hung limply in his arms, moaning in pain.
Dean looked longingly at the car and, when it was obvious Sam wasn't going to do anything but melt like a warm noodle and cry like a baby, Dean shifted his grip and lifted Sam into his arms to carry him the rest of the way.
"Don't you dare puke on me," Dean warned, struggling the last few yards to the car.
Sam groaned, his forehead hitting Dean's cheek as he slumped against him.
"What are you groaning about? I'm the one breaking my back carrying you. You're lucky I'm not just leaving you in the dirt."
Thankfully, he reached the car without dropping his brother and without getting doused in puke. Easing his brother, down, he propped him up against the side of the car so he could pull the door open.
"Hang in there," Dean coached, watching Sam's head bob like it was about to roll off his neck. "You gonna hurl again?"
Sam shook his head, then hurled again.
Dean barely dodged to the side before he got covered.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Hospital it is."
The minute Sam seemed to be finished, Dean hustled him into the car and ran around to the other side. He slid behind the wheel, extremely thankful to find his brother still conscious, if not quite alert. He'd slumped against the door, but had his head tilted and was looking at Dean with bleary eyes.
"How you doing?" Dean asked, starting the car.
"I don't wanna go."
"Go where?" Dean frowned, calculating how far it would be to the hospital in the next town over. The local hospital was out of the question. He didn't need things to somehow circle back and link his brother to the party.
"Hospital." Sam rubbed his forehead with a shaking hand. "I wanna go home."
The plea was pathetic. Pitiful. Utterly miserable. Dean almost laughed, but it was too heartbreaking for him to make a joke. Because they didn't have a home. Just a musty, cheap, no-tell motel room in yet another crappy town that they'd disappear from in another week or so. Jaw tightening with regret, he shook his head.
"Yeah, well, you lost your chance to voice an opinion when you started throwing up."
"I feel better."
"I do." Sam started to push himself upright, went a whiter shade of white, and wilted back against the door.
"Just stay still, ok?"
"Please. Just go home? I'm tired."
Dean was tempted to give in to the request. Heaven knew it would be easier if he did. He wouldn't have to deal with a bunch of questions. Wouldn't have to deal with the police. Wouldn't have to call Dad. But he wasn't taking chances. Not with a head injury. And not with his little brother.
"This isn't a negotiation."
"Please." Sam wasn't backing down and of course it stood to reason he'd be the most coherent now when it came to arguing. "You can check me out. Wake me up every five minutes, I don't care."
"That's not how this works."
"Dad didn't take you to the hospital when you had a concussion."
Dean rolled his eyes, oddly relieved to hear his brother whining. He shook his head and said, "That's different."
"Because Dad's Dad and I was fine and you're my little brother and I'm not going to let your brain ooze out of your ears just because you say you're fine."
Sam sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his head.
Dean didn't want to go near a hospital any more than Sam did, but there was no way he was going to take a chance with his brother's life. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He hated having to make this kind of decision. Dean studied his brother for another moment, then refocused on the road.
Despite everything, Sam almost managed to convince Dean not to take him to the hospital. Almost. The closer they'd gotten to the hospital, the more he'd perked up. He was answering questions correctly and talking in full sentences. His nose was still sluggishly bleeding, the entire right side of his face was swollen and bruising up quite dramatically, and his face was more green than white now, but he didn't puke in the plastic bag Dean had found under the seat.
As much as they both didn't want to go to the hospital, though, Dean didn't alter his course.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot, Sam was slumped against the door, having run out of energy to argue in the last minute or two. Parking as close to the ER door as he could, Dean turned the engine off and nudged his brother. No response beyond a deepening of his pained frown. Dean sighed and got out of the car. Reaching the other side of the car, he opened the door, a hand out to catch his brother before he could hit the pavement.
Sam groaned, but otherwise didn't respond or move.
"Come on," Dean said, giving his brother a gentle shake. He would start with coaxing but if his brother didn't get a move on, Dean was prepared to bodily haul him out of the car. "Sammy, come on. Wakey wakey."
This time Sam weakly batted at him; missing completely, but Dean appreciated the effort.
"The sooner you get checked out, the sooner we can go home. Get. Out. Of. The. Car."
Finally, Sam started moving. He was slow and his movements stiff as he dragged himself to his feet. Dean grabbed him before he could fall over. Sam gasped in pain, arms wrapping tight around his middle.
"Sorry." Dean closed the car door, then started guiding his brother to the entrance of the ER. "Let's get you taken care of and then we can go home."
Sam didn't respond, but also didn't put up any more resistance.
Once inside, Dean told the story of how his little brother had been mugged walking home from a friend's house. The ER wasn't busy so they got in right away. It wasn't the first time he'd had to be the one to take his brother to a doctor and he had a signed permission slip from their dad allowing him to make any needed medical decisions. It made everything a lot easier and got them through the initial red tape quickly.
Thirty minutes later, Dean's peace of mind had been restored.
No fractures or other serious injuries. Concussion and a whole lot of bruises were the worst of his injuries. Sam was mildly annoyed with being dragged to the ER for what he thought was no good reason but Dean didn't care. Dean was more than mildly annoyed that he'd had to drag his brother to the ER in the first place.
He was counting the moments until they got out of here and he could start the interrogation and figure out what on Earth Sam had been doing getting into fights at a party he wasn't supposed to be at in the first place.
"Dean?" Sam shifted where he sat slumped on the exam bed. He was a picture of misery with his bruised and scraped face, his dirty clothes, and scuffed sneakers.
Lips turning up in a slight smile, Dean asked, "Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can we go home yet?"
"Soon. They're getting the paperwork ready then we're outta here."
Sam sighed, closing his eyes. The table paper crinkled under him as he leaned sideways against the raised head of the exam table.
"Enjoy your nap." Dean slouched in the uncomfortable chair and kicked his brother's foot. "Because once we get out of here, we are gonna have one of those chats where I ask the questions and you tell me what the hell you were doing at that party."
He received no answer; not that he'd been expecting one. Tempted to take a nap of his own, he didn't get the chance because the nurse walked into the room with a handful of paperwork. He could have taught her a few things about concussions, but he listened to her every word in case there was something new in the world of medicine. By the time she was done, he hadn't learned anything he hadn't already known and Sam was more asleep than awake.
He woke up enough to stumble out to the Impala. Dean guided him to the backseat and Sam didn't argue; just curled up with his hands pressed to his head. Grimacing in sympathy, Dean closed the door then got behind the wheel.
The drive back to the motel was almost silent, broken only by an occasional moan of pain from the backseat and a whispered apology from the front. Dean's fingers cramped on the wheel as he drove and ran through the events of the night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't for the life of him figure out what the hell had happened.
Once at the motel, it took a lot of prodding and coaxing and threatening before he could get his brother out of the car. Holding Sam up as they made their way into the room, Dean knew his chances of getting the mystery sorted out tonight were slim. Even so, he was going to give it his best shot.
He guided his brother to his bed and Sam immediately started collapsing toward the pillows. Dean kept a hand on Sam's shoulder, holding him in place. He stretched out and flipped on the lamp. Sam flinched away, hand coming up to cover his eyes.
"Sorry," Dean said, gently pulling his brother's jacket off and studying the scrapes, gashes, and bruises all over Sam's face.
"They got you good, didn't they?" he said, hating that he hadn't been there sooner. That he hadn't been there to prevent what had happened.
"I got them, too," Sam whispered with a quick smile.
"Yeah you did." Dean smiled. "Ok, time for you to lie down."
"Mmhm." Sam drooped toward the pillow.
Dean lifted his legs onto the bed and pulled his sneakers off. After dropping them on the grungy carpet, he pulled the covers up, then nudged his brother's shoulder.
"Yeah?" Sam didn't open his eyes.
"What the hell happened back there?"
"I got the crap beat out of me."
"True. But you beat the crap out of that one guy first. What I can't figure out is why."
"Don't shrug at me." Dean sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What were you doing out there tonight?"
"What difference does it make?"
"It makes a difference because I just had to take you to the emergency room."
"You'll be mad." Sam peered at him warily.
"Well, yeah, I'm sure I will be. But you're gonna tell me anyway. Besides, I'm already mad."
Sam's wary glance morphed into something a lot more worried.
"You disappeared without telling me where you were going or even leaving a note," Dean explained, somewhat gratified to see the guilt-stricken look in his brother's eyes. "And we're gonna have a talk about that tomorrow, trust me. But right now, I just want to know why you went to that party."
Sam shifted slightly, grimacing and pressing his hand over his eyes again. He swallowed hard, then said, "I was angry."
"Angry?" Dean asked incredulously. "What were you angry about?"
"Dean, I'm really tired. Can we-"
"Nuh uh. You're not getting out of this that easy. I'm not letting you sleep until you answer the question." He waited a moment, then nudged Sam in the shoulder. "Seriously. Just spit it out."
"I knew they were gonna be at that party. Those guys," Sam said softly. "They're always hanging out with a bunch of other people at school."
"And you thought they wouldn't be hanging out with a bunch of people at a party?"
"We're leaving in a week. It was my last chance."
"Your last chance for what?"
"To...to talk to them."
"Talk to them?" Dean shook his head incredulously. "There was actually talking involved before the ass kicking got started?"
"Not really." Sam grimaced.
"Uh huh. So why were you so angry you went to a party to talk to some stupid jocks?"
"I was angry because of...something they said."
Dean sighed. Wasn't like they hadn't gone through this more than once over the years. Always the outcasts, always the new kids in school, never fitting in, always standing out, there had been no shortage of opportunities to get picked on by bullies.
"You should've told me, Sammy," Dean said, wishing he'd realized his brother was getting bullied again. "I'd've dealt with 'em."
"It wasn't...it's not like that." Sam put his other hand to his head too, looking more uncomfortable by the moment.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"They weren't picking on me," Sam whispered, rolling onto his side and pressing his face into the pillow.
Dean frowned. Wasn't the first time Sam had stood up for a kid even more miserable than he was. A lot of kids didn't know how to fight back or defend themselves. Sam did.
After a moment, Dean asked, "Who were they picking on? What's his name, Mark? That scrawny little kid that follows you around all the time?"
"His name's Matt and, no, they weren't picking on him. Not this time."
"Dude, those guys were a lot older than you. And a lot bigger and meaner." Dean clenched a fist on his thigh, anger flowing through him. "You should've told me. You shouldn't have gone near them on your own. Who were they picking on, Sammy?"
Sam just shook his head against the pillow, pulling his knees up and effectively pushing Dean away.
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does." Dean frowned. This was a whole lot more complex than it had initially seemed. "Who were they picking on?"
"It…it's not like I did any good anyway. They don't care."
"I think the guy you beat senseless cares." Dean smiled, tapping his brother's knee. "I think he's gonna care a whole lot more tomorrow when he wakes up with all those bruises you gave him."
"Sam. Tell me what happened. I'm not giving up until you do."
"Why can't you just let it go?" Sam asked, his tone dull and defeated.
"Because someone kicked the crap out of my little brother and I need to know why."
"They were…They said…"
"They said what?" Dean asked when Sam's voice trailed off.
"They said you were stupid," Sam whispered, still hiding behind his hands.
"What?" Dean shook his head, trying to come to terms with what he'd just heard. "They said I was stupid? What difference does —"
He broke off because it hit him like a punch in the gut. Staring at his brother, he tried to wrap his head around the fact a couple thugs had called him stupid and his little brother had evidently gone on the defensive on his behalf.
"They said I was stupid and you went to that party to talk sense into them?" It sounded ridiculous as he said it, but he had no doubt that was exactly what had happened. "And, what? They didn't listen so you decided to start a brawl?"
"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean asked, regretting it as his too loud words startled a flinch out of his brother. "I don't care what a bunch of clowns think of me and —"
"Well I do!" Sam lifted his head a pinch. Just enough for Dean to see the misery in his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "I care what they think and what they say."
"Sam—" Dean tried to soothe, but Sam wasn't having it.
"You don't know the things they've been saying. They're telling the whole school you dropped out because you're stupid and that you're trash and that's what they say about Dad and they don't know what you do! They don't know and they're saying all this terrible stuff and they just don't know. They don't know you and Dad are keeping this town safe. Keeping people safe. Because I can't tell them. I can never tell them and everyone just gets to say all these things and—"
"Alright. Stop." Dean kept his voice gentle, but firm. This was spiraling out of control fast. "Take a breath."
Sam obeyed with a shaky inhale. His eyes slid closed and he melted back into the pillow. His head had to be pounding after that outburst.
"My turn to talk, ok?" Dean waited till he got a half-hearted shrug, then said, "First of all, thanks."
Sam peered at him.
Smiling, Dean said, "Seriously. Thanks. It's good to know you've got my back."
For that, he was rewarded with a hint of a smile.
"But you don't have to defend my honor, dude." Dean was trying to keep it lighthearted when he really wanted to wring his brother's neck. And then hug him. "I don't care what they think and neither should you. Ah ah! Shh. I'm not finished."
Sam huffed, but kept quiet.
"Like you said, they don't understand. They don't know the real reason I dropped out. They don't know what we do for a living and it's better that way."
"No buts! Look, you took that guy down all by yourself and he's going to be feeling it for the next few days. Of course, you got your ass handed to you too and you're gonna be feeling it for the next few days, too." Dean smiled ruefully, rubbing Sam's shoulder. "You did good."
"Yeah. I'm impressed. Dad's gonna be impressed with how well your fighting skills are improving."
"Don't tell Dad," Sam said, starting to push himself up.
"He's not gonna be mad." Dean rolled his eyes and gently pushed his brother back against the pillow. "He'll be impressed, too."
Sam still looked doubtful, but didn't argue the point. He also looked like he was less than a minute away from falling asleep.
"As impressed as I am, how about you let me fight my own battles until you get a little bigger, ok?"
Sam snorted, which wasn't the agreement Dean was waiting for, but was probably the best he was going to get under the circumstances.
Pulling the covers up over his shoulders, Dean smiled and said, "Try to get some sleep, ok?"
"I'm gonna wake you up every hour to make sure you don't slip into a coma."
"Wives tale." Sam yawned.
"Doesn't matter. You scare the crap out of me, I get to wake you up all night long."
Sam groaned, but the tension was draining out of him. He'd be asleep in another minute or two.
"And Sammy?" Dean brushed the messy hair back from his brother's bruised face.
"Hm?" Sam didn't open his eyes.
"Next time someone insults my good name, what're you gonna do?"
"Punch 'em in the face."
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. :) Have a great week!