She pointed to the stairs, “I left the suit on the bed.”
He groaned before standing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Why do I have to dress up?”
“Because they deserve it.” She looked around the rundown house and sighed, “It’s not like we have an abundance of holiday cheer in here.”
“I don’t-”
“For Gods’ sake, you told Dean about monsters this year!” She spun around, slamming the bottles down, “I want him to know that doesn’t mean there isn’t still good out there.”
John blinked at her in surprise, taking a few steps toward her before letting out a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair, changing directions, “O-okay. I’ll go.”
“Thank-you,” she picked the bottles back up before disappearing into the kitchen. “Be ready to leave in fifteen.”
“…Why?”
“You have to get Deans’ pie.”
He stopped halfway up the stairs, “You didn’t make one?”
She poked her head out of the kitchen doors, giving him a bewildered look, “I’m sorry, have we met?”
He chuckled before starting back up them, “Right. Sorry.”
—
“Well? Whaddya say?” Mary held out the box of decorations, smile plastered on her face.
“Hell yeah!” Dean snatched the box, before running over to the undecorated tree, thousand-watt smile lighting his features.
Sam shook his head before joining his brother, digging out a box of big, blue glass bulbs.
Dean dug out the garlands, wrapping it around his hand before using it as a whip, chuckling, “Hey look! I’m Indiana Jones!”
Mary chuckled and shook her head, “Be careful with those, Dean.”
Sam smiled as he placed a bulb on the tree, “This is awesome, Mom! Just like I always imag-” he cut himself off and blinked, as if just noticing what was happening.
Mary made her way over to him, slightly crouching, “What’s wrong, Sammy?”
His brows creased in confusion and he looked around, “I… I don’t…” He chewed his lip as he turned his gaze out the window, catching a glimpse of something he couldn’t make out, “This doesn’t seem…. right.”
Bobby awoke startled, hearing a loud crash from the kitchen, what in the hell…? He was out of his chair in an instant, stalking his way over to the kitchen doors, hand on his gun, mentally running through the salt-line check he’d done before falling asleep.
He opened the door and sighed in relief as he saw the five-year old jump up from the floor.
“Jesus, Boy, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he leaned himself against the door, eyes roaming over the flour-covered counter, “Whatcha doing, Sammy?”
The brunette swallowed thickly and ‘hid’ a cookie sheet behind his back, eyes threatening to spill over with tears, “… Nothing,” at the mans’ eyebrow raise he sighed in defeat, bottom lip poking out, “I-I’ll clean it up…”
“Clean up?” Bobby craned his neck a bit so he could see over the counter and noted the un-cooked cookies that littered the floor, “Now why would you do that?”
Sammy blinked in surprise as Bobby got an apron out of the closet, “… What?”
Bobby’s heart broke, John what the hell have you done to this boy? He took the cookie sheet from the child and placed it on the counter, before winking, grabbing the mixing bowl, “We can’t let you destroy the kitchen for nothing.”
—
“Wow,” Sammy was practically laying on the counter, watching the cookies cool on a wire rack.
Bobby chuckled as he washed the last of the dishes, “You’d think you’d never seen a cookie before.”
“I’ve seen cookies,” he rolled his eyes, “I just can’t believe I made these!”
“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?”
“I know you helped but still…” he reached out to touch one, recoiling as it burnt his finger, “These look like real cookies. Like the ones you get at a store!” He turned to the older man, “I can’t believe we turned eggs and milk and all that stuff into these! It’s like magic!”
Bobby did his best to hold in his laughter, “Yeah, cooking is pretty cool.”
“Definitely,” he tilted his head a bit to the side, “… can making cookies be a job?”
“Yep,” Bobby leaned against the counter, taking a swig from his beer, “They’re called bakers.”
“Really?” his eyes went wide and he gave a thousand-watt smile, “That’s so cool! Do you think…” he bit his lip and averted his eyes, smile fading, “Do you think I could do that?”
“’Course.”
“But won’t Dad-”
“It doesn’t matter what John says,” he narrowly stopped himself from hitting the counter, “I mean,” he took a deep breath, “you should do whatever you want to do. Don’t worry if John doesn’t understand. Do what makes you happy.”
Sammy nodded before turning back to the cookies, “I want to make these every day!”
Bobby smiled, going over to ruffle his hair, “Then you do that.”
Just then, the boys heard a rumble from outside, the Impala.
Sammys’ face lit up again and he practically jumped off the counter, running to the front door, “They’re back!”
The brunette sped to the front hall before – much to Bobbys’ surprise – bee lining for the stairs, bedroom door slamming shut.
Sam huffed, before going back to the bed, are all brothers’ this annoying? Or did I get a special one? He starred at the wall, trying to think of a way he could get even with his brother.
Just then, their dad came in, he strode over to the first bed, gruffly throwing his duffle down, while sliding another out from under it.
“Where’s your brother?” He threw a few different things back and forth between bags, not bothering to look up.
“H-he’s in the shower,” Sammy watched his father in part fascination, part worry.
John zipped one of the bags closed before tossing the other one back to the floor, kicking it back under the bed.
“Is everything okay?” Sammy couldn’t tell if his dad was scared or pissed.
The eldest wretched the door open, pausing a moment to finally look at his son, “I leave in five minutes.”
With that, he was gone. Sammy blinked, did he want me to tell him? His eyes drifted back to the bathroom door, Dean did want to go… Sammy sat on the bed, torn. On the one hand, Dean seemed really excited to go on a hunt, on the other, hunting was dangerous. Sammy had seen how badly some hunts could go, and it was more often then not that they both had to play nurse to John afterward. He didn’t even say what he was hunting… His eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall. He sighed before getting back off the bed, knocking on the door.
“Don’t tell me you have to go again already!”
“No, Dean, I-”
“You really need to get that looked at!”
“Dean, stop, I’m-”
“Maybe when dad gets back he can take you to the doctor. That is not natural!”
Sammys’ hands balled into fists at his sides, “Dean!”
He stormed back into the bathroom, giving the shower curtain a death-glare.
“Sammy, what the hell?” A bottle of shampoo came flying out from behind the curtain, “Get out!”
He starred down at the red string tied around his wrist in annoyance, seriously? You had to pick this week? As if the blonde didn’t have enough to deal with, now his stupid ‘red string of fate’ chose to become brighter.
According to the lore, that meant he and his ‘true love’ were getting closer – the brighter it gets, the better chance you have of running into your fated other half. It could happen any time, any age, and was supposed to be a celebratory thing – you finally finding your other half out there in the big wide world.
Dean thought it was closer to a crock of shit then some fairytale. People were way too obsessed with finding their ‘love’, some would travel to every corner of the world they could in desperation, and the girls at school? They hooked up with pretty much any guy they could get their hands on – some of them thinking the fated love needed to be ‘activated’ – only to end up running around the room gathering their clothes, never to speak to the guy again when the strings didn’t glow intensely.
No, it was much better in Deans’ opinion to leave well enough alone and go about your own life – if the stories were true and you were fated to be together, you’d run into each other at some point, regardless of if you went searching for them, right?
“Dean!”
The shout from downstairs startled the blonde, and he quickly buttoned the sleeves on his shirt, no need making a big deal out of this.
He trooped downstairs to see John standing at the base, holding Sam by the collar.
“How many times do I have to tell you to keep an eye on your brother?”
“Sorry, Sir,” Dean grabbed his brother by the wrist – not missing the cut over his eye that was most definitely not there this morning – all but pulling him into the banister.
“I was in the middle of a fucking important job! Y’know, the kind that puts food on the table for your sorry asses!”
“It won’t happen again,” Dean roughly shoved his brother up the stairs, behind him.
“It better not,” the brunette turned on his heel, picking the half-drunk bottle of Jameson up from the coffee table, “He better have that homework done by the time I finish.”
“Yes, Sir,” Dean watched as his father collapsed on the couch before he turned back up the stairs, following his brother. Once they were in the privacy of their bedroom, he turned to his brother, “What happened?”
Sam sighed, deflating as he sat on his bed, “I was just trying to go out for a run,” he ran a hand through his hair, sleeve pulling down revealing his own red string, it was glowing too, “I didn’t turn the light on because I didn’t want to wake him. I got all the way to the door when I accidentally kicked over an empty bottle.”
The blonde let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, “They weren’t at the curb?”
“He said he needed to save them for a ‘project’,” he gave his brother a pointed look before flopping backward onto the bed, shirt lifting slightly revealing angry, red lines across his too-thin hips, those look fresh, “How much longer?”
“Not long,” Dean crossed the room, kneeling beside the bed to pull out the box of cash he’d been saving, “Just a few more weeks.”
“You’ve been saying that since I was 6, Dean.”
“Why do you think I never say a number?” He cocked an eyebrow at the upside-down smile his brother was giving him, “Just hang on a few more months. Once I’m 18 I can become your guardian and we can finally get outta here.” He replaced the lid and put the box in the closet, he made sure to keep it’s location rotating, just in case. He made his way over to the bed sitting beside his brother, tilting his head trying to get a better look at the cuts, “How much longer until you stop this, huh?”
Sam quickly pulled his shirt down and sat up in one fluid motion, sly smile on his face, “Not long. Just a few more weeks.”
Dean let out a dry chuckle and shook his head, “Deal.”
“De, I don’ feel good.” Sammy pouted from the bed, keeping his arm around his stomach.
“I know, Sammy. I’m gonna make it better, though.” Dean replied, walking carefully over to the bed with a bowl of soup.
“Promise?” Sammy sniffed.
Dean carefully set the soup down on the bed before climbing up onto the bed himself, scooting in as close as possible to the youngest, stretching out his arm, holding out his pinky for the little one to grab.
Sammy followed his brother’s lead and stuck out his pinky too, allowing the older to wrap his around it, sealing the deal.
“Of course, Sammy. It’s my job.” Dean stated, smiling and ruffling his brother’s hair.
Sammy gave his brother a weak smile and chuckle, having it end in a fit of coughs with the elder rubbing soothing circles into his back.
“Where’s Daddy?” Sammy asked.
“He went to go get some medicine for you.” Dean replied, scooting up so he was resting against the headboard beside his brother, still holding the soup.
“Yuck.” Sammy said, pulling a face.
“C’mon Sammy, if you don’t take it you won’t get better.” Dean reasoned, sliding the soup over to his brother.
“Not hungry.” Sammy said, sliding the bowl back.
“Sammy.” Dean warned, using his ‘Dad voice’.
“De.” Sammy mimicked, scrunching his face up and pushing his bottom lip out.
“You have to eat so you’ll get better.”
“I have to do lots to get better.” Sammy stated, pointing an accusing finger to his brother.
“Not my fault you got sick. I told you eating grass was bad for you.” Dean countered, smiling.
“I don’t eat grass!” Sammy exclaimed, his eyes going wide with horror.
“No, but you do eat it’s cousin.”
“No I don’t!” Sammy replied, shaking his head furiously.
“Yeah, think about it Sammy, if they weren’t related then why are they the same colour?” Dean asked, folding his arms over his chest.
Sammy scrunched up his face in his thinking expression and was quiet for a moment, unaware that he’d picked the spoon up out of the bowl and put it in his mouth. Dean chuckled at that – Sammy wasn’t thinking unless he had some sort of object in his mouth. It went well with his giant puppy eyes and feet, Dad kept saying that Sammy would grow into his feet and be giant, taller than Dean. Dean didn’t agree with that, but you didn’t tell Dad when you didn’t agree with him – then he’d get mad and that was worse than just agreeing with him.
“I still don’t think that’s right.” Sammy finally stated around the spoon in his mouth.
He looked down his nose confused and took the spoon out of his mouth, placing it back in the bowl. Sammy’s head whipped up and over to the window, before he scrambled off the bed, knocking the soup over as he went.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean exclaimed at the mess of soup.
Dean slapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes shot wide with what he’d said, hoping for a moment that his brother didn’t hear it. He looked up to where he was and saw Sammy skid to a halt and turned around slowly, his eyes big with shock.
“You used a grown-up word.” Sammy stated, his eyes still big.
Dean just shook his head, unable to find his voice.
“You used a grown-up word.”
“N-no I didn’t.” Dean replied, still shaking his head, sliding off the bed to stand.
Dean looked up to the window as he heard the familiar rumble of Dad’s car.
Uh-oh. Dean thought.
Sam’s eyes got even bigger and he looked toward the door, no doubt frightened now that their dad was close enough for Dean to hear the car.
“Sammy, look at me.” Dean started, rushing over to his brother, holding him by his small shoulders.
Sam reluctantly looked at his older brother, not sure of how to handle this, but at the same time trusting Dean to take care of it.
“Dad won’t know what I said if we don’t tell him, right? And if Dad doesn’t know-”
“He can’t get mad.” Sammy finished, his look not changing.
“Exactly, and I know that I’m not going to tell him…” Dean baited, waiting to see if Sammy would clue in.
“I won’t tell him!” Sammy exclaimed, face going shocked that his brother would assume something like that.
Dean smiled and patted his shoulders before pointing to their bed. Sammy nodded and walked back, stopping when he reached the side to look back at his brother, his frightened expression back.
“The soup.” Sammy said, eyes getting watery.
“Sammy, it’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” Dean promised.
Sammy didn’t look too certain but hoped back onto the bed anyway, trusting his brother. Just as soon as Sammy was settled back under the blankets, the door swung open to reveal a very tired and pissed looking John, who also just so happened to smell what Sammy called ‘the bad stuff’.
“Dean, what’re you doing up?” John questioned, narrowing his eyes at his eldest.
“Watching out for Sammy.” Dean replied, automatically straightening up and puffing out his chest.
John looked toward the bed, where the youngest was pretending to sleep, so he wouldn’t have to talk to his father. When he smelled like the bad stuff, he was a lot angrier and harder to talk to, the boys had found that out the hard way.
“Sammy’s sleeping.” John stated, as if it were a question, as he raised his eyebrow at the eldest.
“He hasn’t been feeling well.” Dean reminded, opting to not say the ‘I’ve already told you’ before it – that wouldn’t end very well.
“You test him?” John asked, walking over to the youngest.
“Test him?” Dean questioned, following his father’s lead and walking closer to the bed.
“To make sure he’s still him.” John clarified, apparently annoyed at having to spell it out to his son.
“He’s not possessed Dad.” Dean answered, sitting down on the edge of his father’s bed.
“He wetting the bed again?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then why is there a giant puddle on the bed?” John demanded, spinning around to face the eldest, his face set in a snarl.
Dean visibly leaned himself back slightly, trying to get away from the monster standing in front of him.
“I, uh, I spilled the holy water, when I tested him. That’s how I know he’s not possessed.” Dean lied quickly.
“You wasted the holy water?” John shouted, pulling Dean up by the collar.
He brought his eldest close to his face, so they were only inches apart – so Dean could smell the bad stuff on his breath. Dean could feel himself shaking, despite having every vessel of his being concentrated on not showing John how weak he was. Sometimes, if he was lucky and his body listened to his brain, his dad wouldn’t hurt him, he’d leave him alone and just go right to sleep.
It didn’t seem like his body got that memo today.
John threw the kid across the motel room, sending him crashing on top of the table against the opposite wall. Dean bit his lip as he landed, trying not to cry out in pain, another lesson he learned the hard way not to do. John started toward him when Sammy whimpered from the bed, stopping John in his tracks. Dean raised his head slowly and tried to blink the water out of his eyes, so he could see his brother, instead of just a blurry brown blob poking out of the yellow sheets.
“What?” John spat, making the lump shake with fright.
John started toward his youngest now, his face no doubt twisted into one of disgust at ‘the thing that ruined their family’ as John so often stated. Dean clenched his teeth and did his best to roll off the table, landing hard on his back, but sighed a slight sigh of relief as it’d diverted John’s angry attention back toward himself. He shakily got to his feet, keeping himself steady with one hand on the table, the other wrapped around his middle in pain.
“Embrace the pain Dean, be a man!” John yelled, walking toward the mentioned.
“J-just close your eyes, Sammy. I-it’ll be okay.” Dean ground out, wincing as the movement sent a flare of pain up into his jaw.
Dean saw the mess of brown hair disappear under the yellow sheets and felt himself relax slightly now that he knew Sammy wouldn’t be watching. That kid did not need anything else to think about in that giant head of his. John was now standing about a foot in front of the oldest, looking down at him as if he wanted to eat him. Some days, Dean didn’t think he would do that, sure his dad was tough, but he’d never eat somebody.
Other days, (days much like this) he had trouble convincing himself of that.
“Did you get Sammy’s medicine?” Dean asked, looking the monster right in his blood shot eyes.
“Sammy’s medicine?” John repeated, looking confused, instead of angry.
It’s really the little things that made Dean’s day.
“You said you’d get him some before you left.” Dean stated, looking expectantly at his father.
“He needs medicine?” John mumbled, looking down at the carpet, more to himself than his son.
“Yeah, Dad, I’d told you at least five times before you left.” Dean continued, feeling himself starting to get angry.
John looked back to the bed holding the mentioned for a moment before looking back and looking desperate.
“I- I didn’t think…” He breathed, as if trying to work through everything for the first time.
“Yeah well you should’ve Dad. Jesus, you promised!” Dean exclaimed, crossing his arms and glaring at the man before him.
John’s eyes got big as if he’d just remembered what he’d said and he fell to his knees in front of his son, reaching out for him, eyes desperate and pleading.
“I-I’ll go now. I’ll go get him some now.” John bargained, voice raised an octave.
“You can drive like this?” Dean questioned.
Even though he’d said ‘like this’ he knew his Dad heard ‘this drunk’ instead.
John nodded his head fervently, wild eyes seeking out the hardened gaze of his oldest.
“Ten minutes.”
Before the last syllable was out of his mouth, John had gotten up and rushed out the door, starting the Impala in record time, no doubt leaving tire marks from stepping on the gas so hard before speeding away.
Dean let out a breath and deflated as he heard the rumble of the car fade, he could once again relax. He flicked his eyes up to the bed and walked up to it as he heard soft sniffling noises.
“Sammy?” Dean asked softly, laying a hand on part of the lump under the covers, to what he really hoped was his brother’s leg.
The mess of brown hair popped out from the yellow and turned toward the direction of the voice. There was a shake of it and then two giant hazel eyes could be seen between the hairs.
“You okay?” Sammy asked, voice barely audible.
“Course I’m okay.” Dean replied, smiling brightly at him.
Dean climbed up onto the bed and pulled his brother carefully out from under the blankets. The second he was freed from the yellow cocoon he latched his arms around his brother’s neck and buried his face into his chest, trying not to cry.
“It’s okay Sammy.” Dean cooed, rubbing circles into his back.
“He still hates me.” Sammy cried, letting his tears fall.
“No, Sammy, he doesn’t hate you. He just…” Dean trailed off, trying to find the right words.
“Doesn’t want me anymore.” Sammy mumbled into his chest.
“Sammy c’mon, you know that’s not true. He loves you.” Dean said, nuzzling his cheek onto the top of his head.
“He loves you.”
“No he doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Sammy.”
“De.”
Sammy started laughing as his brother started tickling him, not liking how sad he was. Soon, Sam was rolling around on the bedspread, face red from the effort of laughing so hard. Dean was smiling too, glad that he managed to cheer up his brother, and also glad that his Dad still wasn’t back yet.
“De, s-stop!” Sammy squealed, rolling around trying to get away from his hands.
“Alright, alright.” Dean agreed, before falling down onto the bed beside his brother.
Sam looked at him curiously before scooting toward him until their foreheads were touching.
“You can go to sleep now Sammy.” Dean said, his voice soft.
Sam shook his head, shaking his hair into his face.
“It’ll be okay Sammy, I’ll protect you. I promise.”
With those reassuring words, Sam allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
—
“C’mon Dean, you gotta eat it.” Sammy pouted, holding the spoon in front of his mouth.
Dean shook his head back and forth, not trusting his brother to not shove it into his mouth if he did open it.
“De, you gotta eat it or else you won’t get better.” Sam said, plopping the spoon down into the bowl of soup between them.
“I have to do lots of stuff to get better.” Dean replied smiling at his brother.
“It’s not my fault you got sick.” Sammy stated, sticking his tongue out.
“Yes it is! You’re the one who got me sick!” Dean exclaimed with no real heat.
Sammy smiled and reached forward, ruffling his brother’s hair much to his dislike.
“When’s Dad coming back?” Dean asked, glad that he managed to steer the conversation away from him eating.
“He said ‘soon’.” Sammy replied, doing his best John impression for the last word.
That got his brother to chuckle and ruffle Sam’s own hair. Sammy cried out but before lunging for his brother he carefully moved the soup to the bedside table.
“Don’t need a repeat.” He mumbled as he set it down before turning back to the oldest.
“Oh, c’mon Sammy, it wasn’t that bad.” Dean said.
“He hurt you De, because of me.” Sammy replied, looking down to his lap.
“No Sammy.” Dean disagreed, his voice going hard, making his brother look up.
“Not your fault. Never your fault.”
“Okay.” Sammy agreed, nodding before watching Dean sink back down into the bed, letting out a breath.
Sammy wiggled himself right up beside his brother, their sides touching.
“Sammy, if Dad comes back-”
“Don’t you worry De. I’ll take of it.” Sammy stated.
“But Sammy what if-”
“I promise. Just go to sleep.” Sammy replied, cutting his brother off.
Sam waited up until he felt Dean’s breathes even out, letting him know he’d fallen asleep himself, keeping his eyes on the door as he pet Dean’s hair.
“I’ll protect you.”
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