Chapter Text
“Dean!”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
Dean struggled under the two large paper bags that were crammed in both arms. One held a six pack of soda and the largest bag of Doritos that Dean could find at the 7/11. The other had some Oreos and a large bag of M&Ms. There were also some hoagies tucked at the bottom with enough meat to clog Dean’s arteries. Sam was insistent that his share have at least some sort of vegetable and Dean was too excited about this night to care. This was a very special night—at least as special as a motel screening of an HBO movie could be—and Dean wanted to leave nothing to chance.
He sat down on the end of his bed where Sam was already perched, feet swinging off the ground excitedly. Dean dropped the bags on the table that Sam had drug over in front of the bed so that they could sit on the bed facing the TV and not risk spilling anything on the beds. It would only be a few more days before their Dad was back and the last thing that they needed was John to find the remnants of a meal on his sheets.
“When does it start,” Dean asked, tearing the paper bag from the side so that he could have easier access to the delicacies within. He pulled out his foot long sub before handing Sam his respective hoagie.
Sam licked his lips as the smell of toasted bread and honey ham waved from the wrapped hoagie. It took him a moment to realize that his brother had spoken to him. “Oh, 8:30 I think.”
Dean craned his head back to look at the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds.
8:21
He had gotten back just in time. The latest Terminator wasn’t something that Dean would usually get excited for, but ever since he and Sam had marathoned a few at the last crummy motel, the offer of a newer movie on HBO was something that he could get behind. He had wanted to make it as though they were going to the theater with snacks and the best vantage point. It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but it was better than nothing.
“Excited,” Dean asked, jabbing his elbow into Sam’s ribs just as his brother took a massive bite of his hoagie.
Pieces of lettuce and a chunk of turkey fell from the back of the sub on the wrapper. Sam swallowed his massive mouthful, nearly choking on it. “Of course!”
Dean lived for the excited twinkle in Sam’s eyes. It seemed that recently that the light was starting to dim. He no longer got excited over the little things like stacking the small containers of creamers at diners or building forts with pillows and blankets between the two beds. Sam was 16 now. He was more interested in high school classes and even had been trying to talk to girls more. Dean could still see the snot nosed kid in there somewhere. It was just that a young man was emerging more and more now instead of a little kid.
“Good,” Dean declared, taking another bite of his sandwich. Flavors of tomatoes and Colby jack cheese seeped into his mouth, igniting his taste buds and taking him on a wonderful adventure. The bread was toasted just enough not to be burnt and the mayo was smeared evenly across both sides of the hoagie. This may not be the best meal that Dean had ever had but it was darn close.
The movie had just started when the door to the motel swung open. Sam swallowed his gulp of sandwich when he saw John stagger in, the front of his shirt drenched in blood as well as the lower half of his face. He reeked of desperation and alcohol, making his movements sluggish and cumbersome as he ambled around the room.
Dean took one look at Sam and noticed how uncomfortable he seemed. It didn’t take a genius to know how easily Sam could be embarrassed and that John was the one thing that embarrassed him the most, even if people weren’t there to his behavior. He would shut down and wouldn’t even open up to the likes of Dean. It used to be that it was Dean and Sam against the world. Now Dean was lucky if Sam told him how school was. Although, Sam was growing more stubborn and that often led to disagreements with their father more often then not.
“Is that my shirt?” Sam’s eyes narrowed in frustration. Dean had recently been able to hustle a little extra money then usual at the vocal bars and that had allowed them to buy a couple new articles of clothing that weren’t from secondhand stores. While Dean would’ve rather that money go towards food or better motels, he knew how desperately Sam wanted to fit in at whatever school they found themselves at that week. If clothes that didn’t have tears or stains made life a little easier for Sam, then Dean would do damn near anything to make that happen.
John looked down to the polo that Sam had worn the day prior. He shrugged as he started to rummage around their small kitchenette for more alcohol no doubt.
Sam scooted back on the bed and crawled around Dean even as Dean tried to grab his brother’s arm. “Sam,” he warned through clenched teeth.
Sam pushed him off, sliding from the bed and toward his father. Determination glowed in Sam’s normally complacent hazel eyes. His shoulders were braced back so that he could rise to his full height. “That’s my shirt,” Sam announced in an authoritative tone.
John tentatively turned to regard Sam. His eyes were unfocused and it took a moment for them to finally rest on the son that was speaking to him. Shaggy hair clumped in sweat as he lumbered over to Sam and looked down on him, muscles rippling under the too tight t-shirt. It was then that Sam could tell that the blood had come from John’s nose, which seemed to be broken halfway down the base. Sam would’ve guessed it was some sort of bar fight since John hadn’t been out on a hunt. Although, Sam wasn’t about to ask.
“What did you say,” John growled. His stinking breath billowed into Sam’s face, carrying with it the sour tang of beer.
Sam wrinkled his nose and took a step back. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of the malice in John’s eyes. The eldest hunter could be an asshole at the best of times, but Sam had never seen John eye him with this much hatred before.
Dean could see the look too and pushed the table away from the bed. He needed to stop this before things escalated.
Suddenly, John snapped his head down. A sickening crack echoed throughout the motel room. Time seemed to slow for Dean as he watched Sam stumble backwards with a hand clamped firmly over his nose while blood spurted out like a waterfall. Sam collapsed onto the floor on his back, head crunched forward and tears leaking from his eyes and clinging to his eyelashes.
“Sam!” Dean rushed forward and came beside him. He rested a hand against the small of Sam’s back and helped prop him up.
Pain blossomed across Sam’s face. However, Sam was more shocked than anything and that dulled the pain to bearable levels. He had been through plenty worse on hunts before. “D-Deadn,” he mumbled, blood making Sam’s voice sound helplessly congested.
“I’m here, Sammy.” Dean began to shrug off out the flannel that had been wearing and shoved it against Sam’s nose. Sam hissed and tried to pull away, but Dean tightened his grip on Sam and moved his hand out of the way so that Dean could clamp his own hand harshly against Sam’s nose to stem the flow of the bleeding at least for the time being. This certainly wasn’t the first nosebleed that Sam had received and likely wouldn’t be the last. This was just the first injury that had been a result of John’s hand.
Warmth flowed against Dean’s fingers, drenching through the plaid fabric. A whimper rose from the back of Sam’s throat at the pressure Dean was placing on the appendage. “I know, I know,” Dean chided sympathetically. He tried not to let Sam know how much it hurt him to see his little brother in such pain. “I know it hurts. I’m going to try to make it better, but you’re not going to like that.”
Dean heard a snort from across the room. His head snapped up and locked with his father, who was standing propped against the counter watching his sons intently. Pure raw hatred rose inside of Dean, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. In this moment he wanted to lay into his father and let him know just how much of a fuckup he really was. However, none of that would do Sam any good.
“Leave, now,” Dean snarled venomously.
John looked like he wanted to argue before thinking better of it. He started over to the door and left the motel room, feet dragging. When he finally left and closed the door behind him, Dean snapped out of him furious state and turned his attention back to his brother.
Dean peeled the bandage away from Sam’s face and gingerly traced his finger along the bridge of Sam’s nose. Sam bucked away from Dean, a moan leaving his lips. “Deadn!”
“Sorry, kiddo.” Dean gritted his teeth together, seeing the way Sam’s nose craned more to the right than it had previously. The tenderness had told him what he feared. “I think it’s broken. I’m going to have to snap it back.”
Sam’s eyes widened in alarm. “Dno!”
“I don’t think you really have a choice in the matter, Sammy. I promise that it’ll just take a moment.” Dean set the shirt aside and brought both hands and hovered them over Sam’s nose. Although his hands were always very steady during a hunt whenever he chased down countless supernatural creatures, the thought of snapping his little brother’s nose back into place sent apprehension though his body. Willing his hands to calm, he rested each palm on either side of Sam’s cheeks to steady them.
Sam closed his eyes tightly. “I wond’t bind if id’s crooked.”
Dean gave a wiry grin. “I’m sure you will once the girls start flocking to you.” Dean craned his head from side to side in an effort to find the best vantage point where he could bring both sections of Sam’s nose together while causing his brother the least amount of pain.
“We’ll do it on three, alright?” Dean’s tongue swiped against his bottom lip, face sneering in concentration. “One.” He snapped his fingers upward, forcing Sam’s nose back into alignment. An equally loud pop echoed around the room and sent Sam whimpering and drawing his knees up to his chest in shock. Tears rolled down Sam’s cheeks and fell onto his shirt, mixing with the blood already dousing the front of his shirt.
“You lied,” Sam cried out with a grimace. “You said on three.”
Dean raised the shirt again and tucked it back around Sam’s nose. He then used two fingers to force Sam’s chin forward. “Clamp it tightly and don’t lean back. We’d rather have blood drip out then back into your stomach and throat. Trust me I’ve been on the receiving end of that.”
Sam closed his eyes tightly. His breathing was erratic while continual waves of pain pulsed through him. “What are you going to do?”
Dean blinked his eyes quickly. He hadn’t exactly thought of what his next step was going to be. Every part of him told him to stay where he was and take care of Sam, but his conscious wouldn’t allow him not to check on his father. He was probably out there somewhere wandering around, drunk out of his mind and probably a danger to himself and others. Dean had to find him before he got himself into even more trouble than he already had.
“Dean?”
He looked upon the puppy dog eyes of the kid he had practically raised since he was four. He had spent more time with Sam than anyone else and knew him better than anyone else. He had vowed to himself that he would always protect Sam even at the cost of his own life. That was the deal. It seemed that the world was constantly against them and Dean was often left to pick up the pieces. They had enough trouble without John adding to it.
Dean forced a smile and grabbed Sam’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Think you can manage here without me for a couple minutes?”
“I’m not a baby, Dean.”
Although Dean was sure that Sam was pretending to make himself seem stoic and tough, which was often how Dean promoted himself. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind how resilient Sam could be. That didn’t mean that he believed him when he looked a moment away from confessing how much pain he was really in.
Dean lifted his hands in a show of surrender. “Okay, tough guy. I hear you.” He rose to his feet and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Keep that there. When I get back I’ll get you a fresh shirt and I’ll help clean you up. Don’t do anything until I get back, understand?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” muttered Sam with the shirt trembling in his grasp over his face.
Dean shot Sam a timid smile and grasped his jacket—his father’s jacket that he had swiped from John’s duffle—and headed out of the room. He closed the door behind him and remembered to lock it just on the off chance he couldn’t find his father and the experienced hunter decided to finish what he started. Dean would be damned if he was going to allow John to hurt Sam anymore than he already had.
He wandered into the parking lot of the small New Hampshire motel. It wasn’t bitterly cold, but Dean could still see his breath that collected into faint clouds from his parted mouth with he exhaled. He rubbed his hands together to force warmth into them, attempting to ignore the dried blood—Sam’s blood—that was caked into his skin. It would take some serious scrubbing to rid himself of the stains.
“Dad,” Dean called, jogging forward with arms pumping at his sides. Lamp posts rose along the sidewalk to the rooms and were mostly burned out. Even so, Dean was able to deduce where his father may have gotten to. A few dollops of blood were speckled on the ground, leading to one of the rooms at the end of the motel.
Dean quickened his pace until he stopped at the last room to find that the door had been kicked in, the handle hanging limp. If someone caught them then they would be kicked out of there in no time. It would be beyond difficult to explain the weapons, blood, and fake IDs. They had done well disguising themselves thus far and Dean didn’t want anything to jeopardize that.
He pushed the door open slowly, hearing the creak of the hinges give away his position. He suddenly wished he had brought some sort of weapon other than the knife he always kept tucked in his pocket. It wouldn’t serve much good if the person who was squatting in here wasn’t his father and had weapons of his own.
The sound of water running nearly had Dean jumping out of his skin. His fingers trailed along the hilt of his hunting knife, ready in case of attack. He crept over to the small motel bathroom to find John with Sam’s shirt submerged under the steady stream that ran from the faucet. His thumbs rubbed over the fibers, attempting to force the blood from it. His face was still caked in dried blood and brow knit together in concentration; all his attention was on cleaning Sam’s shirt.
Dean leaned against the doorway as he watched his father hunched over the sink. Neither spoke, although Dean assumed that his father knew he was standing there.
After a few more minutes, John straightened and looked back over his shoulder to Dean. Their gazes met. Dean set his jaw in determination, daring his father to say something.
John looked down and away from Dean. His focused lingered on continuing to clean the shirt, the water turning pink after running through the shirt.
“Don’t you ever hit my kid again,” Dean told John forcefully, allowing each word to sink in. He didn’t want to have to repeat himself.
John raised an eyebrow, turning to face Dean once more. “Your kid? He’s mine—“
“Never again,” interrupted Dean. He fought to keep his voice calm even though each moment he stayed in his father’s presence made hostility rush through his veins and pool like bile in his stomach.
John rolled his eyes as he rubbed his shoulder against the underside of his nose.
That was enough for Dean. He launched himself forward and slammed a hand on the edge of the sink. The jolt traveled through his fingers and radiated up his arm. “If I ever catch you doing anything like that ever again to Sam, I swear I will throw your fucking ass out of our lives so quick it’ll make your head spin. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
John had rarely seen this side of his son. Sam was always the one that he regularly clashed with. It took a lot to pull this sort of reaction from his eldest. Even so, he knew a serious Dean when he saw one and this wasn’t someone he wanted to mess with.
“Crystal,” John grunted.
Dean drew back, narrowing his eyes to forgiving slits. “Don’t even think of coming back tonight.”
“Where am I supposed to stay,” John asked bluntly.
Dean shrugged. “Don’t care as long as it’s away from us.” He reached forward swiftly and grabbed Sam’s shirt from the sink. The blood had mostly been rinsed from it, but Dean trusted himself more to clean it up than his father in his drunken mind. At least he could try to make things up to Sam this way. There was no doubt in his mind that his father would just mess things up even more than he already had if he allowed him back into the motel room.
He left his father and the motel room behind him. He couldn’t care less what his father would do or where he would go. The only thing he cared about right now was Sam.