Title : Always forgiven
Genre: Teen!Dean and Teen! sam ( Dean is 18, sam is 14) Oneshot.
Disclaimer : sadly, I do not own any characters in this fic.
Warning : There are a couple uses of language, but only 2 or 3 i think. You have been warned!
Note : It changes POV Quite alot, so just go with it, I think it all makes sense!
Ah crap. Sam knew his brother well enough that when Dean used the 'you better get your ass in here right now before I tear your head off' tone, you didn't ignore it. They had only been in the most recent (nearly derelict) small building that their father dared to call a house for under an hour, and dean was already pissed at something. With their father out doing some supply shopping, it was him that would have to deal with dean.
Making his way out of the living room and up the stairs, he pushed open the room to his and Deans shared bedroom. It wasn't exactly luxurious, with one medium sized dresser in between the two small and unstable looking wooden beds on either side of the room, with a small gap between them and the side walls.
As he stepped in, he saw Dean striding across the room towards him, anger turning his face a colour close to that of a tomato.
"Where the hell did you hide it Sam?" Dean yelled, now standing only a couple feet from his brother. Sam had seen dean angry before, and it had even gotten close to violence a couple times, but this . . . this was different. Sam backed up against the wall of their room, dean following him, closing him in. Dean was passed pissed now, and Sam had no idea why.
"What the hell dean!" Sam tried to inch away from his brother, but Dean only backed him into the far corner of the room.
"My Knife Sam! The one dad gave me!"
Now Sam understood some of the rage. The knife in question was given to Dean by their father on Deans 13th birthday, and was one of his most prised possessions. He has used it in his first proper hunt, and it had got them out of countless sticky situations since then.
"What? I don't know where it is Dean. It must be somewhere in our duffel." Pushing at Dean's chest Sam tried to get some space between them, but the only effect it had was to get a short shove from dean, pushing him back up against the corner of the room.
"Sam it's not in there, I knew you took it you fucking liar, give it back!"
Sam physically recoiled at that. Dean's voice had gone so loud and bitter that Sam was wondering how on earth Dean was managing it.
"Dean, get off. I don't know where our knife is, you probably just didn't look for it hard enough. Your being paranoid." He paused for a breath, and then interrupted Dean as he began to retaliate. "Besides, who gives a crap about your pathetic little knife? It's not anything special."
The minute it came out of Sam's mouth, he knew it was a mistake. Dean had looked after that knife like a baby. He cleaned it religiously and was constantly checking it was ok. Even so, Sam knew there was another reason this knife was so special to Dean. The knife was one of the first birthday presents John had given Dean that had not been stolen from some cheap corner store, or found at the last minute. It wasn't just a knife to Dean, it was stone hard evidence that john Winchester cared about him.
Sam knew the punch was coming before it hit him. Dean barely held back, hitting him square in the jaw with enough force that made his head hit the hard plaster of the bedroom wall with a sickening crack.
Opening his eyes he looked into Deans. What he was not expecting is what he would see there. Dean had always be the kind of person to take out their anger, then move on quickly afterwards. Sam expected some irritation, or even a shadow of a heated glare, but not this. All Sam saw when he looked into Deans eyes was hate, and it hurt like a knife to his chest to know it was directed at him.
Pushing hard against Dean's chest, he was surprised when his brother moved backwards allowing him enough room to run for the still open door to their bedroom. He didn't want Dean to see the tears gathering in his eyes.
His jaw throbbing and a slight warm trickle going down the back of his head, Sam bolted down the stairs and out the front door. He didn't know where he should go, but he knew he couldn't face his brother after the disgusting hurtful things he had just said to Dean. His brothers anger had upset him, but he was pretty sure he deserved it.
The pain in his head was quickly increasing as he jogged into the trees surrounding their current home, but he knew he deserved it. He had hurt Dean, and he was willing to take as many punches as it took to try and make Dean feel better. That's assuming that Dean ever wanted to see him again.
As the darkness grew around him and he got further and further into the dense forest, he lost sense of time. It could have been hours or minutes since he entered the forest, but the growing exhaustion Sam felt and the throbbing pain in his head and Jaw finally won out. He sat down at the base of the nearest tree and fell into a peaceful and welcome oblivion.
Dean stood stunned. He couldn't believe he had just hit his little brother. His Sammy.
Watching as the kid opened his eyes, dean couldn't move. He felt Sam push at his chest, and managed to step back to let him go. He watched as he ran out of the room, and seconds later he heard the door slam shut. He had seen the shimmer of unshed tears in Sams eyes.
It was like something had taken over dean, making him lash out at Sam. The comments he had made about Deans beloved knife pissed him off to no end, but he never thought he could hit Sam, The one person he has always protected.
As Dean Stood rooted to the spot, he could only replay those few seconds when his fist connected with Sams jaw, sending the boy backwards. The worst part was the noise his head made when it came into contact with the wall.
Oh god. I'm so sorry Sammy! Dean thought, repulsed by his actions. He knew that his emotions where getting away with him the minute they had started arguing. In the last few weeks, Dean had started to get recurring nightmares, in which his little brother and father were dying right in front of him, but he didn't have anything to save them. He would watch as the werewolf attacked them, but he had no weapon. By the time he got to them they always would have bled out.
Because of this, Dean was sleep deprived and maybe Sam was right, a little paranoid. He constantly feared the nightmare becoming reality, so always made sure he had his knife on his person or close to him to use if anything happened. With the Winchesters luck, Dean wanted to take every precaution.
God, I'm a horrible big brother. Sammy deserves someone better than me...
Dean sat down on the bed closest to the door, Thinking Sam deserved some time away from him.
Just as Dean was considering ways of making it up to Sam, he heard the front door open.
"Sammy! Is that you?" He called out, desperately hoping he was right.
He could immediately tell that the low pitch husky voice belonged to his father, returned from the food shopping trip.
Walking at a quick pace out of the bedroom and down the stairs, he found his father unpacking several brown paper bags in the tiny kitchen-diner.
"Where's Sam? I thought I would make us some dinner." John said, glancing up from the food. Seeing the distant look in Dean's eyes, his thoughts jumped straight to the worst possible reason. Something must be wrong with Sam.
"Dean? What's wrong? Is Sam ok?" abandoning all efforts with the groceries, john strode over to his eldest, shaking Deans shoulders. "Dean! What happened?"
"I ... uh...Sam and me... we had a fight." Dean said, not able to meet his father's eyes. He knew what John would say, how Dean was responsible for Sam when he wasn't there, and he expected more of him.
"Great Dean, Just Great. You know how he gets; all those damn teen hormones. Try and be at least a little tolerant. You should remember what you where like at that age!" John paused, looking at Dean. "Now, be a man about it and go and get Sam from your room and apologise. Look, I know Sam must have said something to you, but you're the oldest Dean. Man up."
Dean knew he was going to have to tell his father. It would mean a hell of an arse-kicking later, but he needed to know.
"Yeah. Well, I couldn't find my knife and Sam was the only one around. I figured he must have taken it. But... it got out of hand. He started yelling at me, I just lost it Dad." Now or never dean thought. "I... I hit Sam. Pretty hard I think."
The silence coming from the eldest Winchester was painful enough. He knew that his father, and in many ways his hero was disappointed and angry at him. The yelling that followed only made Dean Feel a hell of a lot worse. Not that he didn't think he deserved every second of it.
"You... how could you? I know you argue with him, but Jesus, the kid doesn't deserve that!" John ran his calloused hand through his short dark hair.
"Dean, where is he? I think he's the one you need to talk to."
"Well, after... the argument, he kind of ran out. I figured he'd be back soon enough, but that was..." Dean glanced at the small clock on the kitchen counter and looking out the window at the nearly pitch black forest surrounding the house. "Dad, that was nearly an hour ago! It's freezing out there, and with Sammy's luck... oh god, what if something's happened to him!"
Dean then remembered the horrible thump his brother's head had made against the wall after he had hit him.
"His head. He hit his head against the wall. Fuck, what if he's got a concussion Dad! He shouldn't be on his own..."
"Dean, calm down. Go upstairs and get the insulating blanket from my room. I'll get the first aid kit and our coats. We will find him Dean."
After at least an hour of searching, John and Dean were still empty handed. Deep into the woodland, they had been calling Sams name non-stop until both men's voices where beginning to go hoarse.
Just as Dean was beginning to feel like he was losing his mind, he swung his torch to the base of a large tree only 15 feet in front of him, seeing a small lump resting against it. He recognised it instantly.
John turned to where Dean was now sprinting, following his son as fast as he could. As Dean reached the mound that was indeed his brother, He gasped.
Sams Face was a Deathly white colour, his eyes closed and unmoving. He reached out, searching his brother's neck for a pulse, just any sign of life so that Dean could breathe again.
After an agonising few seconds, he felt the steady but weak drum under his fingers, and he struggled to hold back tears of relief.
John moved in beside Dean, Reaching into his back pack and pulling out the shiny blanket that was supposed to conserve body heat. He wrapped it tightly around Sam, whilst still trying to check for any injuries. He found none other than a badly bruised jaw line and cheek, as well as a lump the size of a golf ball on the back of Sams head.
"We need to get him out Dean. I can look him over properly back at the house, but we can't risk him staying out here any longer."
Dean agreed with his father, feeling the urgency to get Sam back to the safety of their current home. As John reached down to pick Sam up, Dean gently moved his father's hands away.
"I did this. It's my fault he's here; I have to be the one to get him out."
John paused for a second before allowing his eldest son to pick up Sam, adjusting him in his arms before they began the long walk back. He had a feeling this would take some time to get over for both his sons, but if he knew anything about the relationship between the boys there would be no bad feelings between them.
After they were nearly back to the small house, Sam began to stir.
"Dean..." Sam's broken whisper nearly broke Dean's heart.
"Shhh buddy, I'm here. You're ok." Trying to comfort his little brother, Dean ran his fingers through the long hair on the top of his brother's head, remembering this used to soothe him when he had bad dreams as a small boy.
"Don't worry Sam, I believe you. Just big brother being an idiot, as usual." Dean was only showing a fraction of the guilt he felt. He knew that Sam would be feeling hurt, their father having promised to let Sam finish up the term in the last town. That was of course before another hunt came up, and John couldn't care less about school then. At times like that, it almost seemed like john didn't care much about Sam either.
Within another 15 minutes, John and Dean had gotten Sam laid down on his back on the sofa, the thermal blanket and 2 thick quilts tucked around him. They had taken off his sweat shirt, t-shirt and jeans that had gotten damp in the cold, leaving him only in his boxers.
John the proceeded an intense medical evaluation, checking to see if Sam had any other injuries, more detailed than the emergency check in the woods.
Finding it all clear, he then looked at the lump on the back of Sams head, Inhaling in sympathy when he saw the small river of dried blood and what he could now see to be a large bruised area surrounding the bump he noticed before. Even so, he thought Sam may only have sustained a minor concussion from his run in with the wall. No trip to hospital, but waking him up every few hours to take some Tylenol for precaution.
Dean Watched John as he looked over Sam, holding his little brothers cold hand and rubbing gentle circles on the back of it.
As John left the room to get some Tylenol and water, Sams eyelashes started to flutter. After a few seconds of Sam struggling to stay awake, he opened his eyes to half mast. Dean leaned closer into his brother, brushing the bangs of his forehead.
" Hey there Sammy. Gave us quite a scare there!" Dean was joking, aiming to try and asses if his brother was mad at him. He wouldn't blame him at all if he was.
"Oh... Sorry." Sam looked genuinely confused by what Dean had said, almost as if he hadn't expected them to worry. "Uhh, what happened? Last I remember, I was in the woods."
"Yeah, great idea champ. Me and Dad went looking for you. Must have been about 2 hours after you left when we found you."
Dean looked down at Sam, seeing so obviously in the kid's eyes how sorry he was. Sorry for making them worry, sorry for staying out, even if he had no control over his consciousness at that stage. You see, Sam's eyes had always given away whatever he was feeling. After 14 years with him, Dean always knew, almost by instinct how Sam felt, and most of the time what he had to do to make him feel better.
This was just one of those times. Sam needed an apology, to know his brother didn't want to hurt him. He deserved one too.
"Look Sam, I'm sorry. Sorry I started fighting with you; sorry I got so angry, sorry that I hit you." Dean paused trying to collect himself. "God, I'm so sorry I hit you. I swear I didn't mean it, I just lost it Sammy..."
Sam looked up at Dean with those huge hazel eyes of his, peering out from under his hair. And in that moment, Dean knew that he was forgiven. He knew that when it came to Sam, he would always be forgiven.
" It's ok Dean. I'm sorry about what I said about your knife, I know how much it meant to you, I was just angry."
Dean couldn't say he was surprised by this. Even though he had been the one to punch Sam, his brother was feeling guilty. That's just who Sam is dean thought. Sam was always looking to take the blame off of others, make them feel better. No, Dean wasn't surprised, but he still couldn't hold back the feeling of pride growing in his chest, and the distinct knowledge of how lucky he was to have such a great little brother.
"I think we both got a little angry Sammy. We good?"
"Yeah Dean, We're good."
There you go! My first Fic, so i'm feeling more than anxious about how you guys like it, So please review!
thanks for reading!