Title: Innocent Mishap

Author: Ice Cube

Rating: K+

Spoilers: For Supernatural…but probably only vague references…

Disclaimer: Right, if I owned them anywhere outside of my dreams, the characters that are forthwith mentioned in this story would be making me a lot of money and very happy…so no, they aren't mine, and I'm a broke college student who has no money, so if you're going to sue, feel free, you won't get anything.

Characters: Sam, Dean, John

Archives: Feel free; just let me know where so I can find it again.

Summary: Young Winchester fic…mysterious injury leads one ER doc to question the boys' story…

Warnings: To those who think that I am capable of writing a fic that is torture free…I can't, and thus, if you don't want to see h/c, various possible tortures, and other forms of angst, find another story. Also, to those of you looking for slash, when I mean friendship and brotherhood, I take that in the trust you with my life and have no problem telling you about my current crush who is of the opposite sex way. In other words, if you're looking for slash, you won't find it here.

I don't have my stories beta'd, I'm too impatient to wait for someone to proof it after I've written it, so I apologize for any mistakes, and if you email me to tell me that they're there, I'll fix them later. Reviews are always a plus, it's great to know that people are reading my stories and like them, but as I'm a horrible reviewer, I won't hold my breath for them. Flames, however, will be treated with the utmost respect they deserve…they will be ignored completely or poked fun at with friends.

That said, on with the tale…

I've always wonderedif Dean and Sam could spend so many years and never have anyone notice that they were bumped and bruised alot...this is kind of my take on what could happen...

Chapter 1

"Please. Someone has to help my brother." The small voice was barely loud enough to penetrate the emergency room, but it garnered the attention of every person in the vicinity nonetheless. The sight that each person was greeted with was heart-wrenching. The boy's sandy hair was covered in mud, and blood dripped down the left side of his face. He looked like he was going to fall over at any moment, toppling over at the weight of his brother. His t-shirt was torn up the sleeve and what little they could see of it was tattered across his chest as well. Through the rips, all who regarded him could see his muscles, still undeveloped, bulging and rippling with spasm as he continued to hug another boy to his chest. This boy looked to be too large to have been carried any distance by the smaller one, but it was apparent that there was no way he had gotten anywhere under his own power. He, too, was covered in mud and blood, but the pale contrast of his face with the dark hair in his eyes concerned the first doctor that reached the pair.

"Please. Can you help him?" Dark eyes with tears checked at the corners implored her to reassure him.

"We'll do our best, kiddo. Why don't you let me take him from you and we'll get you both checked out? How does that sound?"

"I have to stay with my brother. I can't leave him." The boy backed away slightly and stumbled; his brother's weight and his quick movement throwing him off balance. The doctor reached out a hand and steadied him.

"Come on with me. We'll get you two looked at and go from there, how's that? What's your name?"

The boy bit his lip and hugged his brother more tightly to his chest, unsure if he should trust her. But his head was starting to pound, and he felt dizzy, so he didn't know what else to do. He nodded and let the woman in front of him take his brother and lead him back to a room.

No matter what the woman did, she couldn't get the child in front of her to tell her what his name was. His only concern was that his brother was going to be all right, and that he would be staying in eyesight of the other boy.

"How about you tell me about your brother? He looks like he's older than you. Is he?"

"What?" He tore his gaze from where the other doctors were prodding his brother. He wasn't sure what to do, and wanted his father to come and make everything all right again.

"Your brother. How old is he?"

"Dean's fourteen." Sam winced as he saw the needle coming at him. "But Dad says I'll be taller than he is some day. Have they gotten a hold of him yet?"

"I'm not sure, kiddo. Can you tell me what you and Dean were doing?"

"We were…just messing around. It was an accident."

"What happened?"

Sam paused, he knew that telling this woman the truth wasn't even an option, but his father or Dean usually had a story that he could just play off of. "We were playing, and Dean…he fell. Down a hill. Umm…we were just screwing around."

"Can you tell me your name now? My name is Sandy."

Sam looked at her as if she hadn't asked him countless times beforehand. "It's Sam. Dean calls me Sammy."

"Sam, hunh? I bet you guys are really close for brothers, hmm?"

"Sure. He's my best friend."

"Sam, how did you get here?"

"I walked, what do you mean?"

"Nothing. Do you hurt anywhere else, Sam?"

Sam nodded, but didn't give her any more than that. It seemed like the doctors working on his brother were talking about moving him somewhere. He hopped down off of the bed and tried to follow.

"Hold on, Sam. You need to stay here."

"No," the word came out more like a plea than anything else. "I need to go with my brother."

"They're going to take care of Dean; we need to get you taken care of, okay?" Sandy knelt down in front of the boy to try and get him to listen to her. "Where else are you hurt?"

But Sam was stubborn; it was a trait long ingrained into both boys that they had learned from their father. If he wasn't going to be able to go with Dean, then no one was going to talk to him. He bit his lip and crossed his arms in front of him, but couldn't suppress the wince that the action caused.

The problem with being a stubborn ten-year old is that you are still small enough to be picked up and treated like a small child. Sam found this out quickly when he was deposited back on his bed and told to take off his shirt. He glared, but when scissors were brought forth warningly, the boy changed his mind and gingerly pulled the long sleeved shirt off.

Sandy bit her own lip as she saw the bruises across the boy's ribs. Messing around with your older brother didn't explain these. She noticed that Sam didn't take the shirt completely off of his left arm and nodded to it. "Come on, Sam; all the way off."

Sam shook his head vehemently and brought his knees to his chest, hiding his arms behind them.

Sandy was confused, and was starting to get annoyed with the boy. His baby face and innocent looks only got past the eleventh hour of a double shift for so long, and all she wanted was to get this over with. There was no way this could be too much of an injury if he had carried Dean for as long as he did, and the doctor couldn't explain why this boy was being so stubborn about it.

"Look, Sam. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. So let's go. Shirt off, sit back on the bed, and let me take a look at those bruises. By the time I'm finished, your brother should be back." She crossed her arms and mentally counted to five.

Sam counted to five as well, judging how much he could get away with before Sandy really got mad. He remembered the last time he had hurt his arm like this; his father had fixed it, and Sam wasn't too keen on that happening again. When she reached forward and tugged on the shirt, jostling his arm, Sam pulled back and took the shirt off his arm himself.

Sandy's eyes widened and she wondered what kind of life this boy led if he wasn't curled in a ball in pain already, much less have carried his brother into the hospital. She could see the bone poking up through his skin, just on the edge of breaking through, and causing massive bruising on the side of his arm under his thumb. Pushing back any thoughts of wrapping the boy up in a hug and trying to make him feel better that way, Sandy ran her hand lightly down the boy's arm and then lay it softly down across his stomach.

"Let's get you up to x-ray, okay Sam?"

Before he knew what was happening, Sam had been whisked off to another floor, sat in a room where a man had moved his arm around on a table multiple times and then took several shots of his chest as well, and was back down in the emergency room. This time he was in a different room, and his arm had been set and casted. Surprisingly enough to him, the simple injection he had been given had made the process painless, and now he was sitting alone, getting more nervous as time passed.

The boy continued to sit in just his sweatpants, staring at the paper shirt that Sandy had given him before telling him that she would be right back. He didn't care what she thought, no shirt was better than that thing.

He looked up when, a few minutes later, a strange older woman came into the room with Sandy. Sam was instantly on edge; this woman had an air about her that made him nervous.

"Good news, Sam. Looks like your ribs are all right. This is Doctor Malloth. She wants to talk to you a little while you wait for your brother. I'll be back to check on you in a little bit."

Sam ignored them both and picked at the blue fiberglass that encased his arm now. He felt the woman sit down next to him and saw the can of Sprite that was held in his line of vision.

"Are you thirsty, Sam?"

He was, and his father rarely let him have soda, but a doctor who came in bearing gifts was more concerning to him than one who argued with him over his shirt. When she uncurled his fingers and placed the can in his right hand, however, Sam figured that he may as well milk the deal and get the treat.

"You can call me Abby if you'd like, Sam. Doctor Malloth sounds like my father. Do you know where your father is, Sam?"

Sam figured it was best to just pretend the woman wasn't there and drink his soda. Dean had warned him for as long as he could remember to let people know as little as possible about his family. He listened to the woman drone on about something or other, but found himself more willing to talk to her as she went on. Her questions seemed to start out innocently enough.

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Ten. Almost ten and a half now."

"What did you get for your birthday?"

Sam paused. He had gotten a knife from his brother, and his father had forgotten again, but he knew better than to tell her that. "A race car from Dean and some books from Dad."

"Dean's your brother, right? He's older?"

"Yup. He's four years older than me." Sam drank more of his soda, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the questions she was asking. Maybe she just wanted to keep him company.

"The nurses at the desk said you carried him in. You must be pretty strong."

Sam just smiled. He still wasn't going to offer up any more information than he needed to.

"What does your father do for a living?"

"He…he…I'm not really sure what he does," Sam hoped that he could play that card since he was still young. "He goes to work in the morning after he drops me off for school, and Dean picks me up, but I'm not sure what Dad does."

"Is he home for dinner a lot?"

Sam looked at her strangely, that was a lying question for him. "He's usually home by the time I finish my homework. He always makes dinner for me and Dean."

"So why wasn't he home when the nurses called your house?" Abby looked like a cat when it had caught a mouse in a trap, but Sam was quick to wipe the expression off her face.

"I bet he's out looking for me and Dean. We should have been home hours ago. He's probably driving around, worried sick."

"And he hasn't checked here yet?"

"What kind of father checks the hospital before his sons' friends' houses?" Sam looked skeptical; his brother would be proud.

"What about your mom? Where is she?"

Sam looked hurt and miserable. "Mom died when I was just a baby. Can we not talk about that?"

"Sure, Sam. If you'll tell me what happened today."

Sam saw visions of Dean jumping between him and some…thing. It hadn't been nearly what they were expecting, and it took them completely by surprise. Their father was going to be furious.

"We were just messing around up on the hill behind my school. We were wrestling and didn't realize how close we came to the edge. Before we knew it, we were tumbling down the hill. Dean got the worst of it and hit a tree. Then I picked him up and brought him here."

The story was innocent enough, and other than the fact that he and Dean had taken turns wrestling with whatever was attacking them, it was kind of close to the truth.

"So why do the bruises on your arm look like fingers? Like someone grabbed you and broke your arm; and the bruises on your stomach look like…"

"I don't know; I'm only ten years old. You're the doctor, you tell me. Where's my brother?"

"Sam, I'm just trying to help you."

"Where…is my brother?"

Abby sighed. "He's in the next room. They're still trying to fix him up. We're talking about you right now."

"I don't want to talk about me; I want to know how Dean is."

"Sam, what really happened today? If someone's hurt you, we can make it all go away. We can help you."

"I told you. Dean and I were messing around and Dean got hurt. It's my fault; no one's hurting me. Dad's probably going to ground us both for a week, but that's all. I'll miss watching television for a little while. Can I see Dean now?"

"Not yet, son."

"I'm not your son. My mother is dead; I told you that."

Abby sighed again. She had seen it so many times; she wanted to help this boy, and hopefully his brother too. The avoidance, the fierce protection of his family, the vague answers; they all painted her a picture that she wanted to change. She wanted to throw a bucket of water at this boy's canvas and start over for him.

"Look. I answered your questions. You can ask my brother what happened when he's better. But right now, I just want to find him and make sure that he's okay. So you can go bother someone else for the time being. Leave me alone." Sam jumped up from the hospital bed and made for the door, Abby hot on his heels.

Barefoot and shirtless, the sight of a small, battered boy sprinting through the halls calling for Dean turned many heads, but one in particular.

"Sammy! Sam! Samuel, come here!"

Sam's head whipped around at the familiar voice, and he skidded to a stop, turning faster than Abby could follow. Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she tried to follow the adolescent.

"Daddy!" Sam bolted for his father and wrapped his arms quickly around his waist. Sniffles were all Sam let show of his relief at finding his father and he buried his face in his father's stomach. Abby groaned; things could only get worse now.

John didn't return the boy's hug, but pulled him out to arms' reach and squatted down until he was eye-to-eye with his son. Gripping Sam's shoulders, John searched the boy's eyes. "Sammy, where's your brother?"

Sam's chin dropped to his chest and he sighed. From where she stood, Abby saw the absolute hurt and disappointment in the young boy's features.

"That way, I think." Sam pointed back to where he had come running from.

"They're still working on him?"

Sam just nodded.

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know what's going on with him, no one would tell me. Daddy, he was hurt pretty bad."

John Winchester saw the fear in his youngest son's eyes and pulled him back in to hug him; he let Sam's arms drape over his shoulders, and felt his boy's face bury into his neck. The tears that came next pulled at the father's heart and suddenly, Dean wasn't foremost in his mind. Both of his sons needed him.

Gripping Sam tightly, John stood up and sought out the nearest wall, slumping down and settling his son into his lap. He felt his son burrow closer to him and realized that he could feel Sam's bare skin. Pulling his own jacket more tightly around the boy's back and shoulder, John rocked his charge gently.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" He felt a nod and reached to turn Sam's chin so he was facing him again. He could see the damage his son had taken. "Are you sure about that?"

"Eight stitches and a concussion. But Dean's worse."

"And it looks like a broken arm too. You're sure you're all right? You were running pretty fast, there sport."

Sam just buried his head more deeply into his father's shoulder and tensed. "There was a mean lady talking to me," he muttered.

"What mean lady?" John was instantly on alert for anyone or anything else that might want to endanger his boy.

"That would probably be me, sir. My name is Doctor Abigail Malloth. I'm a social worker here at the hospital and I'm afraid that Samuel here ran off before we could finish our conversation. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam just whimpered and curled more tightly into his father's chest. "I'm pretty sure we were done, ma'am. I told you I answered everything for you; I just want to know how Dean is."

John stood to his full height, shifting Sam to his hip and rubbing his back. "It seems you've done nothing more than scare my son, Doctor. He said you had finished your conversation, and he answered everything you asked of him. So I'd appreciate it if you would leave him alone now, and let me see to both of my boys."

Abigail Malloth was afraid of very few people, especially when she knew that the security guards in the hospital were at her back. "Actually, sir; I'm afraid that I'm going to have to take Sam with me for now, until we can be more sure of some things."

"No! Daddy, please, I want to stay with you!" Sam's cries accompanied him pulling more tightly on his father's neck.