Hello all!! This is the first of a new series of one-shots I'll be working on :D I needed some serious hurt Sam in my life and there were too many one-shots floating around in my head so I decided to combine them all! Yay!! None of them are in chronological order though so some will be when Sam is little, others will be teen, others will be present, it just depends on when the muse strikes :D Hope you like the first chapter!! :D

I own nothing!! =(

"Mr. Andrews?"

He hesitated, not sure if he should reply to the chosen surname at first. "Yes?" He asked finally, curiosity getting the best of him. Not only had the past few years caused him to become overly cautious, the fact that someone had managed to track down the hotel number and call their room was a little strange.

"Hi, this is Cathy Morrow, I'm the assistant principal at Woodard Elementary. I was calling on behalf of your son, Sam."

John felt a tightening in his chest, a vise closing around his heart instantly. "Is there something wrong?" He asked carefully, mentally preparing himself for any answer the woman on the other line was about to give him. He'd spent the better part of five years mentally preparing himself for pretty much anything else life decided to throw at him.

There was a was a very brief pause before she continued. "Well, your son got into a bit of a scuffle at recess this afternoon and had to be removed from the playground by one of the teachers. It became pretty physical."

John blinked. It wasn't the news he'd been expecting. Of his two boys, Dean was more of the fighter, Sam usually remained the pacifist. "Uh...I understand. Did he say what caused the fight?" He asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of his five year old son getting into an all out fist fight on a playground.

He could nearly hear Mrs. Morrow shake her head. "No, by the time the teacher got out there one boy had a black eye and the other one had some mild bruising. Mr. Andrews, this is a very serious offense and, while I understand your...difficult home life, I'm afraid this cannot be permitted in our school."

John clenched his jaw. 'Difficult' wasn't anywhere close to the word he wanted to use. Seeing your wife pinned to the ceiling above your child's crib isn't difficult; its downright terrifying. He'd told the administrators at the school that the boy's mother had been involved in a car accident five years ago and that they were still trying to cope with the loss. He'd been trying his best to keep the boys stable but it was harder than it looked when they usually only stayed in one state for a few weeks, possibly a month at a time. Maybe this was Sam's way of finally lashing out. "I understand." He repeated, already reaching for the keys on the bedside table.

"I'm afraid Sam is suspended for the rest of the week. Would it be possible for you to come pick him up now?"

John nodded though he knew she couldn't see him. "Sure, I'm on my way." The phone fell back into its cradle and John turned to make his way to the door.

"Dad?" A drowsy voice asked from his right. John paused momentarily to see Dean sit up from the bed. "What's wrong?"

He'd kept Dean home from school on account of the the fever he'd been running the night before that hadn't quite broken yet. Ah well, that's what happens in public school; they're a breeding ground for every germ and virus imaginable. "Nothings wrong, Sammy just got into some trouble at school." He answered his eldest, trying to keep the conversation as brief as possible so Dean would go back to sleep. The boy had tossed and turned all night and had only just fallen asleep about three hours ago.

However, in spite of the fever that clogged his sense, Dean sat up straighter, green eyes narrowing. "Is he okay?"

John smiled. Ever since their mother's death Dean had become super protective of his little brother and had taken it upon himself to take care of the younger boy when John was away. "Yeah, kiddo, he's fine. Try to get some more sleep, I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

Dean hesitated, seeming to weigh his options.

"Dean." John said, but this time there was a warning in his voice. "Go back to sleep, I mean it."

"Yes sir..." He muttered, falling back onto the stiff mattress and watching as his father walked out and locked the door behind him.


Meeting with Sam's principal for the second time in under a month wasn't something John had anticipated and if he had, he would have made sure to shower today. Mrs. Howell wasn't the kind of woman who took things lightly and obviously seeing the senior Winchester was doing nothing to improve her mood. She regarded him with sharp, steel-colored eyes and hair to match. "Mr. Andrews, we have a strict no fighting policy at our school. I hope you understand what this means." She said in a clipped tone as John approached.

"Yes ma'am." It wasn't the first response on his mind but he stuck with it.

Mrs. Howell nodded briskly and turned on her heel, leading him down a hallway covered in hand-painted posters to a small closed office. She opened the door to reveal a very dirty, very ashamed Sam Winchester. "Sam, your father is here to pick you up." She announced to the abashed five-year-old. Sam looked up briefly to meet his father's gaze and looked right back down.

Something was bothering him, John knew it. "Come on, son. Time to go home." He said, keeping his voice as stern and strict as he could. Sam visibly flinched but stood slowly, grabbing his bag and taking a few steps forward.

"What do you say?" John asked, nodding in Mrs. Howell's direction.

Sam stopped and turned, his eyes never leaving the floor. "I'm sorry Mrs. Howell." He said softly, voice shaking slightly.

Mrs. Howell nodded slightly and looked up at the boy's father. "He can return to school next Monday. No sooner." And with that the conversation was over.

John placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and carefully steered him through the lobby of the school and back out into the parking lot. The five-year-old didn't speak the entire time, his shaggy hair falling over his face and covering his eyes. John watched as he got into the car and then walked around to the driver's side, sliding in next to him. They pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the street, the heavy silence never breaking.

After about five more minutes, John finally looked over at his still silent son and let out a breath. "Well...? Feel like explaining yourself?"

"Dad...I'm sorry..." Sam said, refusing to meet his father's gaze.

"'Sorry?' Well, 'sorry' got you suspended from school for the rest of the week. Do you think that makes it better?" He couldn't help sharpness in his voice; he was worried and when he worried he tended to sound angry. Finally, he sighed and tried again. "Sam, tell me what happened."

Sam was silent for a second longer before finally lifting his eyes to meet his father's. His lip was busted and swollen and there was a dark bruise forming above his left eye. John silently cursed in his head. "Some of the older kids were saying some mean things at recess and one of them hit me..."

"One of them hit you?!" John nearly shouted, rounding to face his son. "Why?!"

The boy shrugged slightly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I dunno..." He sniffled, unshed tears shining in his eyes. "He just did..."

"Is that why you hit him back?" John asked, wondering if the tears were from the fight or from some unknown injury Sam was hiding.

Sam nodded slowly, sniffing quietly. "Uh-huh..."

John sighed again. At least it was self-defense and Sam didn't provoke it. "Okay, so you hit him..."

"After I kicked him..."

"You kicked him?"

"And hit him with a stick..."

"...You hit him...with a stick...?"

Sam nodded again, looking back down.

John didn't know whether to laugh or be mad. "Sam, what did those kids say that made you so mad?"

Sam looked down again, more tears filling his eyes.

"Sam, I'm not going to ask again."

"Dad..." The little boy's voice cracked. "Did mom leave because she didn't like us anymore...?"

John nearly wrecked the car; this was completely not the question he's been expecting. "What?"

Sam turned to face him, hazel eyes glistening with tears. "Those boys said..." He sniffed, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer as they slid down his face. "They said that the reason I don't have a mom is because she didn't love me and left..." His thin shoulders hitched faintly as he tried to hold in the tears. "Is that why mom's gone?"

John felt a cold weight settle in his chest and for a second it felt like he couldn't breathe. "Sammy..." He started, but the words wouldn't come out. Sam knew his mother was gone but John and Dean had tried to keep the word "death" out of their vocabulary for his sake until he was a little older. He'd told Sam their mother had gone to a better place and left it as vague as that, no more details than necessary. He figured it was enough but it obviously wasn't. The car pulled off to the side of the road and John shifted into park. "C'mere..." He said, opening his arms for the little boy.

Sam wasted no time in sliding across the seat into his father's arms and burying his face in his shoulder. He sniffled a few more times, hands twisting the fabric of his father's shirt into tiny knots.

"Sammy, your mother loved you more than you can ever know." He said quietly, rubbing the little boy's back gently as he spoke. "You boys were her life; she would do anything for you." 'Even die for you' he thought bitterly, pushing the image of his beautiful Mary pinned to the ceiling out of his mind. "But sometimes, really bad things happen to really good people and they can never come back. That's what happened to your mom, Sammy. She didn't leave because she wanted to, she left because she had no other choice." He felt like he was explaining why the boy's mother had run off to Mexico when in reality she was six feet under in some cemetery he couldn't bring himself to remember the name of.

He sat back, cupping the boy's face in his hands and gently brushing the tears away with his thumb. "Don't ever for a second think your mother didn't love you, okay? Nothing could be further from the truth." There was another hitched sob from Sam and he hid his face again in his father's shirt.

John was silent for a long time, content to simply hold his son and offer what little comfort he could. He'd been pushing the boys really hard lately; that was probably why Dean had gotten sick so easily and Sam had lashed out. He often forgot how young his sons really were, the way he would train them for hunts and teach them spells and incantations while they were on car trips. Hell, he'd even started showing Sammy how to clean a gun (bullets out and safely secured in his pocket, mind you) and the kid was barely five years old. Sometimes, being a kid was what mattered and right now he needed to be a father. "S'okay Sammy..." He said, carding his fingers through the little boy's hair. "I gotcha...I gotcha..."


Much to his dismay, John found Dean sitting up watching TV when they walked in a little while later. He thought about scolding him but knew it was going to happen either way so it was a moot point. Dean stood when he saw Sam walk in, keen eyes scanning his small frame carefully. He was doing a mental checklist in his head for any external injuries; internal would come later. Finally, he walked over to his little brother, fingers gently brushing over the bruises and busted lip, and smiled. "Cool battle scars, dude." He said, ruffling the little boy's hair affectionately. Sam smiled at the contact and the compliment and followed his brother back into the hotel room, falling on the bed next to him.

John watched the two go a smiled to himself. They would be fine, he was sure of it. Even though Mary was gone now, as long as the boys had each other they would be fine.

Soo?? Was it okay?? Sorry, I needed some awesome father! John in my life too so this had to be written :D Sorry if he was OOC O.o Hope you liked it!! :D