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“He needs to learn, Dean.”
“Can’t he learn some other time? With you or Bobby?”
Sam dug his fingernails into his palm. He clenched his jaw and pouted as he pressed his ear harder against the door.
“No.” John told Dean in a voice that automatically made Sam stand up straighter.
“Why not?” Dean whined, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut.
They didn’t know he could hear them. They didn’t know how hurtful their words were. They didn’t know how much this was killing him.
“Because he’s gonna be the one that watches your back as he gets older.” John’s voice boomed, “You two are going to have to look out for each other and that means you need to learn how to operate as a team .”
“I don’t need a ten year old watching my back! Hell, he’ll probably put me in more danger. He’s a kid!”
Sam sucked in a hurt breath and shook his head. He would never put Dean in danger, didn’t his brother know that? Why did he have such little faith in him?
“So were you when you started.”
“Sam’s different.”
And, okay, yeah, that one stung. Sam knew he wasn’t exactly what John had wanted in a son. He wasn’t as tough as Dean. He wasn’t as dedicated to hunting. But he was at least dependable, wasn’t he?
“Yeah, he is.” John agreed, “Which is why he needs the practice. You of all people know that.”
“I just want to hunt, I don’t want to have to hold my kid brother’s hand through it!”
Sam hated when Dean highlighted the age difference between them. He liked when he felt like Dean’s friend -his equal- and not his baby brother. It made him think that Dean thought of being around Sam as babysitting instead of just hanging out.
“This isn’t up for discussion. He’s going with you.”
“Dad, he’s just going to slow me down. He doesn’t know this stuff. It’s just extra weight!”
Sam’s eyes stung. Just extra weight? That’s all he was? He could be a good hunter, he just didn’t want to be. How could they not know the difference? Maybe they just don’t pay enough damn attention.
“You want him to not know how to hunt and get killed out there one day?” John asked.
Sam’s eyes widened at the statement just as Dean yelled back immediately, “No!”
“Then he has to learn. He has to learn from you . That’s it.”
Sam bit down on his lip in anger. He wasn’t just some extra weight. He wasn’t a dying little doe in need of saving. He was ten years old, but damn him to hell if he couldn’t protect himself. He wasn’t an inconvenience or fumbling little lamb in need of teaching. He was independent and wildly capable. And you know what? If they couldn’t see that on their own, then he’d just have to prove it to them. He heard the muted sounds of John and Dean continuing to argue as he backed away from the door and sat down on his bed. They weren’t supposed to leave for the hunt until tomorrow morning, which meant that whatever Sam was going to do… he needed to do it tonight.
So he started planning.
And once his dad and Dean were asleep, he set that plan in motion - even though sneaking out of a room filled with hunters may as well be an Olympic sport.
He made his way to the car and got the supplies he needed to build his idea. See, even though he’s a trained hunter and has barely any body fat, the fact of the matter is… Sam’s ten years old. He can’t just go in there one on one with a werewolf and fight him off. And that’s where he got the idea…
To build a bomb. A silver bomb. One that would explode with enough impact and volume to kill a grown werewolf.
It was surprisingly simple. He looked up some videos on YouTube and recalled what he’d learned from Bobby in the realm of explosives and… he was a quick learner, alright?
He was dying with anticipation by the time he got to the house where their werewolf was residing -which took several modes of transportation and nearly an hour. He took a few deep breaths and studied it for several long moments before making his move.
The werewolf was sleeping. The explosion killed it easily. Sam turned to flee.
And just like that…
A pained groaning and hissing sound from behind him.
There was another one.
A bigger one. That was very much not dead. Injured and writhing in pain, but not dead. Shit .
Sam took all of three seconds to panic before diving into hunting mode. Kick, slash, pull trigger. Growling, claws, howling. One gunshot. Two. Three.
Werewolf number two was dead.
Sam searched the entire house to make sure he wasn’t missing anything -like God forbid werewolf number three- and then dragged the limp bodies out to the yard and burned them. Evidence gone.
He dragged his tired body to the 24 hour bus and collapsed on a seat. His side burned and his head was throbbing. Everything hurt. But… he did it. A smile broke out onto his face as the pride overwhelmed him. He fucking did it!
Oh man, would Dean be eating his words now. Just extra weight? He took down two werewolves! By himself! He wasn’t just a kid, he was a damn hunter. He was capable, and dependable, and strong .
He was still smiling softly to himself as he walked back into the motel room. He glided through John’s room easily and stepped into his and Dean’s, closing the door softly behind him.
“Sam?”
Shit . Sam sighed as he brought his gaze to his brother's bed. Dean was laying down but propping himself up on his elbows, hair messy and eyes dark. It was easy to see him with a nearby streetlamp bleeding light into the otherwise dark room.
“Yeah.” Sam whispered, dropping his backpack to the floor and heading to the dresser to change, “Go back to sleep.”
They’d talk about this in the morning.
But of course, Dean had to ask, voice gruff and sleepy, “Where were you?”
And Sam decided that lying wouldn’t do him any good. So, he shrugged and said as nonchalantly as he could manage, “I just finished the hunt. It’s fine, go back to bed.”
Dean shot up fully in bed, eyes going wide as he asked a little too loudly, “You what? ”
“Shh.” Sam shushed him gently and then quietly said, “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep and so you went on a hunt by yourself?” Dean asked, the worry and anger coming off of him in waves. He was glaring at Sam, eyebrows raised and lips parted in shock, “Are you insane or just really fucking stupid?!”
Sam just rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for this right now. He pulled his shirt off over his head and reached to tug off his pants, too. He mumbled, “I’m tired.”
He pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and ran a hand through his hair as he turned around and walked towards his bed.
“Sam, you can’t just-” Dean started harshly but then cut himself off, and Sam turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. All of the color had drained from Dean’s face and his eyes were glossy. His voice was flat when he said suddenly, “Sam, you’re bleeding.”
Sam furrowed his brows and looked down at himself, confused, “Huh?”
Dean shot up from the bed and rushed over to him, manhandling his brother until he could get a good look. Sam drew in a shaky breath when he followed his brother’s gaze and saw that there was a long, fairly deep slice across his right side. He knew it had stung, but he didn’t think he’d actually been cut so bad. Damn.
“See, this is why you don’t go hunting by yourself!” Dean whisper-shouted, eyes growing angry. He grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him over to the bed, “Sit down. Dammit, Sammy.”
Sam sighed as he sat down. Dean’s fingers were running over the edges of the bleeding gauge and Sam was clenching his fists so he didn’t flinch. It fucking hurt.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Dean seethed, still studying the cut, “I swear to God I could kick you in the balls right now.”
Sam decided there was no point in lying. He shrugged and explained simply and honestly, “I just wanted to prove that I could do it. And I did. They’re dead. It’s over.”
And the moment Dean’s hand froze on his side, he knew he fucked up. His brother straightened out and looked up at him with a disbelieving and hard stare. He questioned, “They?”
Sam just shrugged, trying to force nonchalance. He watched as Dean stood up and then walked over to the bathroom, presumably grabbing some disinfectant and a couple bandaids.
When he came back into the room, first aid kit and a wet washcloth in hand, Sam told him, “Yeah, it was a couple.”
Dean paused where he was walking, halfway through a step. His eyes were wide and voice hesitant, “And you… you took them down?”
Sam scoffed, “Gee, don’t sound so shocked.”
Dean rolled his eyes and then dropped to his knees in front of Sam, placing the kit down on the bed and then gently starting to wipe the blood away from the gash with the washcloth. His expression was so tight and concentrated. So focused. So… concerned.
He finished up cleaning the blood from around the wound and then he reached into the first aid kit and grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a handful each of gauze and medical tape. His hands were gentle. The disinfectant stung like a bitch, but that was the worst part.
As Dean started placing gauze carefully and strategically over the wound and taping it down, Sam swallowed and said softly, “I wanted to show you that I’m not just extra weight.”
The hand on his side froze and Dean closed his eyes for a moment, shoulders sinking. He sighed, “Sam…”
Sam could both see and hear the regret slamming into his brother right now. Sam had just given away that he’d heard all of the things Dean said about him, and they were really not good things. He looked so hurt and angry at himself. Sam was quick to tell him, “It’s okay.”
Dean took a moment to pause and let it all sink in, but then he went back to dressing the cut and mumbled, “Half of me wants to punch you and scream at you for doing something so reckless, and half of me wants to hug you tight and apologize for saying all that crap earlier.”
Sam smiled tightly. The anger was gone from Dean’s voice.
“I’m glad you’re not more hurt.” Dean added, finishing up the tape job and then looking up at Sam with a serious expression, “But you can’t ever do something like this again.”
“I know.” Sam nodded, entirely sincere, “I won’t.”
Dean just kept staring at him and pushed, “I’m serious.”
Sam looked down at his lap and repeated again, only growing slightly annoyed that Dean didn’t take his word for it the first time, “I know.”
Dean nodded. As he started tucking the supplies back into the first aid kit, he sighed and whispered, “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. You aren’t just extra weight. You don’t slow me down. You’re young and you need to learn this stuff. I just… I got so caught up in wanting to prove myself to dad that I took you down in the crossfire. I’m sorry.”
The apology felt incredibly genuine, and Sam figured it was. Still, something caught his attention.
“It was about proving yourself to dad?” Sam asked, a single eyebrow raised in confusion.
“It always is.” Dean said, sort of sadly. He went about checking the dressing on Sam’s side as he continued, “Just… I want to be good at this. I want to kick ass. I want him to trust me and see me as an equal, and I guess I looked at him wanting me to take you along as babysitting rather than training. I was wrong. And I mean it when I say that I’m sorry.”
Damn reached down to grab Dean’s wrist, getting his attention before telling him, “You are amazing at hunting, Dean. Better than I’ll ever be. Dad knows that too.”
“Thanks.” Dean mumbled. Then he breathed in and added in a lighter tone, “And hey, I’ve got four years on ya, Sam. You got plenty of time to catch up. And you killed two werewolves tonight by yourself. That’s pretty impressive for a kid.”
He closed the first aid kit as Sam muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”
Dean nodded and then met his eyes once again, asking, “How did you do it anyway?”
He looked so curious. Almost disbelieving. Sam couldn’t help but smirk. He was gonna be so surprised.
“I made a bomb and filled it with silver nails and screws.” He said casually, knowing that it was anything but casual. He held back a laugh as Dean’s jaw dropped and eyes widened.
“You’re kidding.” His brother said, staring at him like he had two damn heads.
Sam smiled a little, “Nope.”
Dean shook his head in awe and simply breathed out, “Little brother, you are one of a fucking kind.”
Sam laughed softly to himself but it was short lived because within a couple seconds, Dean was running his finger over the dressed wound on his side and asking, “How’d you get the gash?”
“Uh, one of the wolves didn’t die immediately on impact.” He said honestly, “I had to go over and finish her off, but she got me with a claw in the process.”
Dean looked up at him with hard eyes and his tone was incredibly serious when he acknowledged, “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
Sam nodded. He knew that much. Still, he just exhaled and told Dean, “Thanks for patching it up.”
Dean hummed in reply and then brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing it gently, “We gotta figure out how to explain all of this to dad.”
Sam looked down. He knew that waking up to the hunt already completed would disorientate John and mess up their schedule. He was just… trying to avoid thinking about it.
He shrugged and offered with a slight grimace, “We have the rest of the night to figure it out.”
“Yeah.” Dean half-laughed, half-scoffed, “And after that, you get some rest, squirt.”
He ran a hand over Sam’s hair, messing it all up.
“Jerk!” Sam slapped at his hand and Dean laughed as he walked away, bringing the supplies back to the bathroom.
As Sam collapsed back onto his bed, he stared at the ceiling and smiled to himself. Just as he closed his eyes to rest them for a moment, he heard his brother shout back, “Bitch!”