Not Worth It

Summary: Sam is bored, Dean helps him with that and gets yelled at for the trouble. Dean is 17, Sam 13, no pairings. Pre-series naturally.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: Swearing, shouting and bit of blood.

Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.

-

"Come on, why do we have to stay inside?" Sam asked with a whine. "I'm bored."

"Listen, dad said we are staying inside, so that's what we're doing," Dean said. He took an irritated glance at the cast on his left arm; had he not broken his wrist on the last hunt he would have been helping dad and no doubt would they have been finished by now. But now he was not, so John had to take care of it himself.

"Why?"

"You know why, Sam, and that's final." Sam was not a kid anymore. Dean changed position on the chair again, glancing over at his brother. Sam was thirteen years already, and the young teen still had that adorable pout. Dean tore his eyes away before he gave in; Sam's pleading look tended to do that to him.

"Please…"

"No, Sam. Dad said no, that means no."

"But he's hunting outside of town," Sam said. "We're as good as in the middle of it!"

"It's not a big town, and he can come back any minute," Dean said. "Don't you have some homework to do?"

"No, because you helped me with the last one before dinner, and now it's eight and I'm bored, Dean…"

"Nothing on the TV?"

"Please, when is there anything good on the TV?"

"Sammy—"

"It's Sam."

"Sam-my," Dean said and put the magazine down. "Dad said no."

"Come on!" Sam said. "I know we should listen to him when we're in the middle of nowhere, but in a town? Plus the thing he hunts doesn't like towns, it won't come in here."

"Still, we're staying."

Sam sighed before resting his head on his arms, resting the arms on the table he was sitting by. Dean got up the magazine again and thumbed through it, not really reading. He had read it nine times already, he wanted a new one.

Tap, tap. Sam was tapping his fingers on the wooden table. Used to it, Dean did not move.

After fifteen minutes of thick silence, Dean put the magazine down and said:

"The minimart?"

"Really?"

"If dad comes back before we do, I say I got hungry."

"Dean, you don't have to…"

"No, don't worry," Dean said and got up. "Whatever he will do, it's just overreaction. Or do you wanna stay here without anything to do for the rest of the night?"

"Hell no!"

"Hey, no swearing. Let's go."

-

They had barely been gone for a half-hour but Dean saw the car. He gave the bag to Sam and said:

"Alright, keep behind me and don't be bothered with dad."

"Is he back?"

"Yeah, think so."

Sam walked close to him and Dean opened the door to the motel room once he saw John had not locked.

The man looked up the moment they came in.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded to Dean.

"The minimart, I got hungry and didn't want to leave Sam by himself," Dean said.

"I told you not to leave the room!"

"I know, I'm sorry, but there's nothing to eat for any of us!" Dean replied. "We weren't even gone for a half-hour, and I had my phone with me. You could have just called."

John was fuming but Dean was used to it, used to take the blame. He took the bag from Sam, slipped the young teen the book and motioned with his eyes only to the bedroom they shared. Sam nodded and got out of their way. Dean turned away from his father and began unpacking.

"You disobeyed."

"Would you have wanted Sam to go hungry instead?" Dean asked, feeling anger rise.

"You ignored a direct order from me! Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy!"

Dean turned and locked gaze with John, and the man was surprised. Dean did not usually do that.

"Yeah, I ignored it," he said. "Yeah, I did. I'm sorry, nothing happened, and I'll try not to do it again."

"Try? Try not to do it again?!"

"Dad, please drop it," Dean said as he finished placing the things in the fridge. "We just went to the minimart like forty feet from the motel, and no, we didn't get attacked by any ghosts. We're fine."

"Dean, I don't like your tone. Your job is to protect Sam, and right now you're not doing a very good job of it!"

The teen stopped and stared at him.

"Not doing a very good job?" he echoed. The anger boiled over, and suddenly he was screaming, "Not doing a very good job?! Where the hell are you, dad?! Do I see you take care of Sam?! Do you help him with his homework, do you make sure he got clothes and food, do you make sure he's safe and healthy?! No, you don't but I do so stop fucking saying I don't do a good job!"

He slammed the bag down and walked to the door.

"Dean?" Sam came out from the bedroom just in time to see Dean slam the door shut. "Dad, what did you do?"

"Sam, stay in the bedroom," John said harshly.

"Are you leaving?" Sam asked.

"I was just coming for something, I have to go. Call your brother and make sure he gets his ass here, or he'll be sorry. I'll be back later."

And just like that, John was gone too.

-

Sam watched the door, feeling tired but ignoring it. It was closing to midnight and Dean had not come back yet. He would stay until his brother came back. He had tried calling Dean nine times, and gotten no answer, only voicemail. He held the phone in one hand, the book in front of him. The joy he had felt when Dean bought the book for him was long gone. He would not be able to read it until his big brother was back.

Suddenly, staggering steps and Sam's heart sped up. Maybe he should lock the door. But before he got up from the chair, the door opened.

Dean fell down on the floor without any grace, gasping at the impact and all Sam could see was the blood, his brother's white face and then he was by Dean's side. He managed to close the door and locked it, got back to Dean and saw him hold his left shoulder, blood trickling between his fingers.

"Dean, what happened?"

"Robbery," Dean managed. "Fucker tried to take money I didn't have. Stabbed, not bad, just lots of blood… Sammy, help me up."

This time Sam did not say anything about the nickname, in fact he said little, just helping Dean up, first on his elbow, then sitting to finally standing. He stumbled over to a chair and fell down on it. Sam was there, peeling off his jacket and then his shirt, careful with the cast and bleeding shoulder both times, rushing into the bathroom for the first aid-kit. Bringing it out along with a towel, and Dean had already ripped his T-shirt up, now pressing his hand against the wound and biting his lip. He was bleeding from his nose too, the blood trickling down his chin and then falling down onto his lap gently.

Sam took an end of the towel and wiped the blood off, moving Dean's head back and said:

"Hold your head still, breathe through your mouth."

For once Dean just obeyed him and then let Sam take away his hand from the stab wound. Blood began to trickle down but the younger one pressed the towel there, hard. Dean gave out a groan and clenched his eyes shut.

He let Sam work quietly on the wound, hissing at the dabbing of alcohol and a yelp or two at the tight bandages to keep the pressure. Sam looked down at his bloodied hands once he had finished, noted they shook and then up at Dean. The nosebleed had stopped but Dean still had lots of blood in his face.

"Hey, you feeling okay? Wash that away, dude," Dean said gently. "And change clothing."

"Come with me, you need to get that blood off."

"Would love too, but my legs are shaking too bad, Sammy. Can't walk."

Sam looked at him, pulled his good arm over his shoulder and said:

"Then I'll be your crutches. Come on, Dean, you need to clean up and then lie down."

With Sam's help Dean managed to wobble to the bathroom and got off the blood from his face. He had to have his brother's help with the T-shirt but got out of the jeans himself. Sam had already gathered a pair of sleeping pants for him and he got them on. Once they were on, Sam's hand holding some pills and he recognized them as painkillers, taking them without complaint as his shoulder had begun to throb. He even let Sam help him get them down with some water. Then Dean rose up, holding onto one wall and got to the bedroom that way, Sam hovering near him.

"Sam, pick away the worst of the mess for me, okay? You brushed your teeth?"

"Worry a bit about yourself."

"Indulge me, kid."

"Yes, I brushed my teeth, and no, I won't pick away the mess. Dad deserves to see it."

"Sam…"

"No," Sam replied. "We are going to sleep, and dad can be all panicked or angry if he wants. This time, I'll take the blame."

Dean would have argued more had he not been so tired. As it was now, he just muttered 'Whatever' and pulled the covers over himself, careful of his shoulder and cast. He felt Sam settle down in front of him but said nothing about it, not even as the teen's arm slung over his waist and held on tightly. Sam was gentle when he moved his brother's broken wrist aside, away from being crushed between them and then the boy was out.

The older one lay still for several minutes, watching Sam's face and running a hand lightly through his brother's hair. He then moved to a more comfortable position, his right arm supporting his head and Sam's head resting on his chest. He smiled, and closed his eyes.

-

Sam woke up to hear John's bag hit the floor. He was up before his dad could make any more noise, Dean moving restlessly underneath the covers.

"I'll be back in a minute," he whispered to his brother. Dean only moaned, moving to curl around a pillow. Sam rushed to the bedroom door and opened it.

John was staring at the blood, the bandages, the alcohol, seemingly frozen in place, fear clear written in his face.

"Dad." Sam looked at the time. Four in the morning. Dean needed more sleep than that.

"Sam, what happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," Sam said, stepped back as John stepped closer. "Why did you yell at Dean?"

Fear gave way a bit, the stony face began to come back. "He ignored a direct order---"

"You made him leave, and he got stabbed!" Sam shouted. He heard Dean mumble something and quickly closed the door. "He got stabbed, dad, because you overreact."

"Let me see him," John said.

"You're going to wake him, so don't," Sam said. "You can see him later, he needs to rest. We got no more painkillers, I gave him the last two. Go and get painkillers instead, then maybe you can see him."

"Sammy, let me in," he said and took a step closer.

"Only if you get painkillers first," Sam whispered. "Because you're gonna wake him, and he's gonna be in pain. Or don't you care about that? Just as long as you can pretend you care."

"Sam, I would never--! Sam, I love you both, why would I want to see Dean in pain?"

Sam did not answer. He suddenly heard Dean, disoriented, call out for him.

"Painkillers," Sam hissed to John. "And bandages. I cleaned the wound, but you might want to take a look to make sure it's okay. Now."

He walked back into the room and John stepped closer, looked inside. Dean was almost sitting when Sam gently pushed him down, whispering to him and the man saw the bandages on his oldest son's shoulder and he pushed down the will to cry. He had been too hard, he had made Dean angry, careless, and the boy had gotten stabbed. His boy had gotten hurt because he, the big idiot dad, had had one of his famous overreaction-moments. He now understood why people sometimes wanted to hit him over the head.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?" he told Sam. "Make sure your brother's comfortable, Sammy. You keep him safe."

It was the first time John said that to Sam. The boy looked confused for a moment, then nodded.

"I won't let anything happen to him," he said fiercely.

"That's my boy," John said and hurried out the door. Sam heard the Impala's roar a moment later and turned his attention to Dean. The teen was relaxed now when he felt Sam by his side and the younger one slid down until he could hug Dean's head to his chest. His brother was warm to the touch, and he laid a hand on the forehead, hoping Dean had not gotten a fever.

Felt normal and Sam could breathe again. He wiped the sweat off Dean's forehead with a corner of the sheet and the older one slurred out:

"Dad home yet?"

"He went to get some more painkillers," Sam said.

"You didn't yell at him, did you?"

"Just a little bit, Dean."

"Hn. He's coming back?"

"Yeah, soon. Don't worry, just relax."

"Mmm…" Dean all but melted next to him, eyes dropping, unable to keep open. "S'mmy…"

"Yeah?"

"Gun's under the pillow. Just 'n case…"

Sam had to smile. Dean, the one who thought about everything. "Yeah, Dean. Got it."

When John got back, Dean had already began to move around, restless, tired and in pain. The man dumped the bag on the floor next to the bed, kicked off his boots and gently pulled Dean up to a sitting position, letting him lean back against him.

"Dad?" Dean mumbled.

"I'm right here, kiddo. Alright, Sam, let's get the bandage off. Can you get me some water and a towel?"

No longer angry at his father, seeing how careful John was with Dean now, his eyes shining with worry for his sons, Sam nodded and rushed to get the things. Plus, it had not been an order but a request. Sam liked requests more than orders and John knew that.

Coming back with the water in a bowl and two towels, John had peeled away the bandage and now moved Dean a bit to have a better look.

"Looks nice and clean. Good work, Sam." A bit of dried blood was around the wound and John took one of the towels, wetted it and dabbed it all away. "Alright, just to be extra sure we're clean it with alcohol again. But let's get something for the pain for you first, Dean."

Sam fished up the package with painkillers from the bag, not bothering to look what the rest was, and with a glass of water Dean swallowed them. John had a good look to where the wound was, how to make it heal safely and gently tested moving Dean's arm. Sam sat nearby, looked on and winced when Dean did.

Not before long, they had Dean wrapped again and asleep, Sam listening to his brother breathing before turning to John.

"Sorry for not cleaning up, dad," he said. "I guess… I was mad. And I said some mean things…"

"Don't worry about it, Sammy," John said as he got up with a groan. "I started it, because I'm an idiot. I should trust you guys more, but… you and Dean is all I got. It feels like my paranoia level goes up ten times when it comes to you two."

"Dad… tell this to Dean. He has to know. He thinks you don't love him. He thinks you love me more than him, he's thought so for years."

"Alright," John said, feeling tears prickle at his eyes. "First thing… I was going to say tomorrow, but let's say later today?"

"Yeah," Sam said, allowing a small smile.

"And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I know I'm not the greatest dad in the world… but I'm trying."

"I know." Sam's throat suddenly got a big lump and he swallowed, trying to bring it down.

John looked like he wanted to say more, say he was sorry but Sam beat it to it:

"Not me, dad. Dean. It's Dean you have to talk to. I know. Just… let him know too."

"Gotcha. Goodnight, sleep tight."

Sam nodded, got under the covers and John watched him make sure Dean was comfortable before being able to relax.

He was going to do better. If hunting made him such a bad father… it felt like it was not worth it anymore. John flashed a smile as Sam looked at him, made a shooing motion to which Sam responded with a sleepy smile, snuggling down next to his brother and John closed the door with a shake of his head.

End


My first try with younger!Winchesters. It was fun, definitely doing it again!

Until another time,

Ja,

Tiro