Title: Five Times Dean Winchester Really Wanted his Mom
Disclaimer: Dean, Sam, John, and all the other characters from Supernatural belong to Kripke.
Sammy was sick.
Not in that "gonna sleep for a week" kinda sick that he usually pulled. Not even the kind of sick where he threw up and whined about it for three days running. Those Dean knew how to handle.
No, this time Sammy was lying there limply, shivering with a temperature that scared Dean more than anything Dad had hunted in the past six years. And Dad was gone again, leaving Dean alone with a little brother who just kept getting weaker. And he wanted his mom so badly, wanted her to come and make Sam stop hurting.
He didn't want anyone making a big deal about it, though try telling that to Sammy.
He'd worn the stupid robe that Dad had bought cheap from the local Goodwill, worn the stupid little hat that he knew had been designed to make every last one of the seniors look like idiots. He sat through the school's band wheezing its way through Pomp and Circumstance and briefly contemplated putting the continually off-key flutist out of his misery.
But when he got up onto that stage and shook the principal's hand, he really wished his mom could have seen it happen.
Gary, Indiana, and another fucking argument.
Sam and Dad kept cycling through it, Sam wanting freedom and release, Dad demanding loyalty and obedience. Dean stuck in the middle listening to his family ripping itself to shreds around him with no way of stopping it.
Dad was the one to bring her up this time, wielding her death as the call to battle. And Dean had finally had enough of the fighting, and stormed out of the room. Sometimes it seemed like the only reason either of them cared about her was when they could use her as an argument.
He and Dad had split up on this one, "It's a poltergeist, Dean, you could handle that in your sleep."
Yeah, well, this poltergeist had packed more of a punch than normal, and he hurt. A lot, actually, and he was fairly sure that A) his leg shouldn't have that extra bend in it, and B) the crunch his ribs had made when he'd hit the wall meant that some of them were broken too.
It was times like these when he wanted to be the kid whose Mom could heal all wounds with a kiss and a bandage again.
Sam didn't sleep through the night, anymore. He'd doze off for about an hour, then jerk awake or just start screaming. He hated how useless he felt, how much he wanted to stop Sam from hurting, how much he couldn't.
Mom would've known what to do. It was just one of the bedrock things Dean knew. Mom would've known how to fix Sammy, how to make the nightmares stop and the pain go away. After all, she'd done it for Dean until the day she'd died.
He hated the Demon more for taking that away from Sam than anything else.