Title: Sir
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings/Characters: Gen, John, Sam, Dean
Warnings: Wee!chesters (Dean is 10, Sam is 6), emotional abuse, implied physical abuse
Summary: Dean makes a mistake and John is the consequence.
The door slams shut with a loud bang and Dean flinches, looking up with big eyes to see his dad holding a sleeping Sam, wrist encased in a lime green cast.
Dean's instincts (protect Sammy, never let him out of your sight) cause him to take an aborted step forward before John shoots him a glare. He looks down, standing perfectly still, waiting for his dad to put Sammy to bed (even though that's his job because it's his Sammy).
When John comes out of the room, Dean is still in that position, waiting for the verdict, but John ignores him, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Dean looks up in the deafening silence, timid.
"Dad?" His voice is hushed, in a whisper.
"Sir," comes John's response.
"…What?" Dean's brow furrows.
"You are to call me sir until I decide you deserve to be my son again."
Dean winces and looks up, eyes pleading.
"Sir," he whispers, eyes downcast.
"Look at me."
Dean immediately does as his dad—sir—says, unable to stop the flinch when he sees how close he is.
"What in the hell were you thinking, boy?" he growls, holding the whiskey glass with clenched fingers, ice clicking ominously.
"I…"
"You weren't, that's what!" John snaps, "You know, Sammy could've died!"
A part of Dean growls at John's use of Sammy (because that's his and no one else's) but a more dominant part is completely overwhelmed with guilt (sorry Sammy, so, so sorry) and shame. He looks down, cheeks burning, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I know," he whispers, mind flashing with vivid recollections. A flash of shadow, his heart pounding rapidly in his ears, a scream, "Sammy, no!"
John's face is hard when he looks up, and he slams the glass of whiskey down, causing Dean to flinch, his body still aching with bruises of last time's failure. He trembles and bites his lip hard to hold back tears, eyes huge and wide as he locks gazes with John, stuck in a staredown, John's hard glare verses Dean's guilt-ridden one, until Dean looks down and away, his tiny body shaking with repressed sobs.
"Get out of my sight," he snarls and Dean manages a small, "Yes, sir," before he runs, sprinting into any room blindly, as long as it is away from Dad—sir. It ends up being the room with Sam and he can't help but let out a ragged sob, a tear running down his cheek as he takes in Sam's quiet form, the green on his wrist obscenely bright.
Sam shifts, Dean's sniffling waking him, and he sits up, blinking drowsily.
"Dean, what's wrong?" he asks, quiet and innocent.
Dean sniffs, forcing a smile.
"Nothin', Sammy, just something in my eye," he rasps, throat thick. Sam frowns, brow creasing.
"Did you get it out?"
Dean almost genuinely smiles at the naïveté of Sam's question.
"Yeah," he croaks. Sam grins, pleased.
"Good, now come to bed, Dean," he says in that demanding voice little kids get when they expect something to go their way. Dean wipes his tears and does as he says, crawling in beside his little brother.
"Night, Dean," Sam whispers as he snuggles against him. Dean looks down, torn between laughing and crying, both hysterical.
"Night, Sammy," Dean says softly as he leans down to press a kiss to his temple.
One lone tear drips down and falls on Sam's hair.