Dean's Protector
Dean saw the spirit heading towards Sam and he ran to help him. Panic then a deeply trained control took over. He wouldn't let anything happen to Sam. It was his job to protect him. Just as the spirit was about to swing and hit Sam, Dean was able to block the blow. It hurtled him through the air and into a wall. He felt at least one rib crack, if not break as he fell to the floor, but he recovered as quickly as could, pushing the pain out of his mind, knowing it wasn't over. He leaned against the wall and lifted the salt gun, grimacing as the muscles pulled against his chest.
"Sammy! Drop!" He yelled and his little brother obeyed unquestioningly.
Dean shot at the spirit and it disappeared. He dropped the gun tiredly, slid down the wall, and tried to assess the damage to him. He could breathe, if painfully, so he assumed he hadn't punctured a lung and his rib hadn't come through his chest so hopefully that meant he hadn't broken it just fractured it. He couldn't tell if he was bleeding internally, but he hoped not, only time could tell that. For now, it was more important to check on Sam to make sure he was all right. He tried to lift himself up, but the pain was just too intense. Sam came running over instead.
"Dean! Dean! Are you okay?" Sam cried, sounding all of his 13 years.
God, Dean hated hearing that little boy voice of his. It always reminded him that Sam shouldn't be here facing all this danger. He should just be a plain old kid, playing with other plain old kids his age, having no worries about the world or that evil even existed.
"Yeh, yeh, Sam, I'm good. You okay?" Dean grimaced.
"Yeh, I'm okay," Sam said, noticing Dean's pain. "You're not okay. You're hurt, I'll go get Dad."
Sam started to rise to leave, but then Dean grabbed his little brother's arm to pull him back though doing it caused him a world of hurt he could have done without. He had to fight to keep from passing out, but he couldn't hide the stab of pain.
"No, no, Sam. Dad'll find us. Remember, he said he was going to double back and I need you here with me," Dean said quickly. "I think I'm hurt worse than I thought."
Dean knew that he couldn't let Sam go out there alone. He had to make sure he was safe, but he knew that saying it that way would make Sam feel helpless and he didn't want him to think he wasn't capable.
"Are you really hurt that bad?" Sam asked, worry and concern in his voice.
"Might have cracked a rib, nothing serious, but I can't walk right now. I need you to keep sentry, okay?" Dean said with a sense of authority that made Sam sit up straight and feel the responsibility.
"Okay, Dean," Sam said, a small smile curled at the ends of his lips.
Dean smiled too, but the pain was intensifying so he hoped their dad would be back soon.
"What do we do first?" Dean asked squirming in pain.
"We salt the perimeter," Sam said excitedly.
"Right. Get the salt from my bag."
Sam went over and took out the small bag of salt. He started pouring it out in a circle around them without even asking. Dean looked on with pride. "He shouldn't have to do this," he thought to himself. When Sam was done, he came back to Dean. Dean smiled and ruffled Sam's hair.
"Good job, little brother. Now get the gun and the salt rounds for me."
Sam complied happily.
"Help me load it."
"'kay, Dean."
Sammy deftly opened the gun and put the rounds in as Dean watched. Sam then gave it to him. Dean took it and couldn't help, but stare at him, again, pride still in his eyes. How could their father not see how good Sam was?
"What?" Sam asked puzzled by Dean's look.
"Nothing. Now, we just wait."
Sam sat next to Dean and nervously looked around the room they were in.
"Dean?"
"Yeh?"
"Do you think the spirit will be back?" Sam asked, more fearfully than he had wanted to show.
"Don't know, Sammy, but if it does, we're ready for it, right?" Dean reassured truthfully.
Sam nodded.
"Dean?"
"Yeh?" Dean replied, half-smiling at Sam's endless need to ask questions.
"How come Dad doesn't let me do things like you do?"
Dean was caught off-guard by the question.
"Does he think I can't do things as good as you?"
Dean closed his eyes. He knew that their father was hardest on Sam because Sam didn't like or take to the training as well as Dean and he hated taking orders. In Dean's eyes, it didn't make Sam any less capable, just still young and a lot more rebellious. Sometimes Dean found himself envying it, wishing he could defy their father too, but it was his job to keep order, to keep his family together. That always had to come first. Sam had been showing signs of resistance to the life their father had created for them. Dean couldn't blame him for that. Sam wanted more and Dean wished he could give it to him.
"No way, where did you get that idea?"
"He gets so mad when I mess up."
"In case you haven't noticed, he does that to me too."
"I know, but it feels…different…like he thinks I can't do it."
Dean took in a breath. He hated that Sam even had to learn any of this stuff, but he couldn't let Sam think he wasn't as good as him.
"You know how Dad can be sometimes. He's not as good with the chick flick moments."
"The what?"
"You know, getting all mushy on you. He knows you're good. He just worries about you. He worries about the both of us and if he's harsh, it's only because he doesn't want us to get hurt. He wants us ready."
Sam looked into his big brother's eyes with an awe that choked Dean up.
"You let me do things."
"'Cuz I know you can do it. Dad does too."
Dean felt the cold rush of air in the room. Sam stiffened, feeling it too.
"It's back, Dean," Sam said, his voice cracking with fear.
"I know," Dean said, staying watchful. "Stay behind me and in the salt circle."
"What are you going to do?"
"Gotta draw it out to shoot it," Dean said casually.
"No, Dean, that's too dangerous!" Sam insisted.
"Only way to keep it away long enough to get out of here. Thought we could wait for Dad, but I was wrong. This spirit's too strong. We gotta keep moving."
Dean stood up with difficulty, bracing himself up against the wall. He tried to keep how much pain he was feeling to himself so he wouldn't scare Sam, but it was getting worse and he was feeling weaker.
"Now, on my go, I want you to run, you hear me?"
"No, Dean, we go together."
"I'll be right behind you so no worries, okay?" Dean insisted and reassured.
Sam nodded reluctantly. They then fell silent to gauge where the spirit was. It flashed in front of Dean and he pointed the gun at it.
"RUN! SAMMY! NOW!" Dean yelled out.
Sam followed Dean's orders and ran. Dean shot at the spirit, but missed, his attention distracted towards making sure Sam had gotten clear. It ripped the gun from his grip and tossed it aside. It then wrapped its ghostly fingers around his throat and he felt it choking him. All Dean could think about was that Sam had gotten away and that was all that had mattered to him. The spirit then lifted Dean off of his feet and slammed him against the wall. He felt his head hit hard against it and grimaced. Its rotten teeth grinned gleefully back at him and its cold breath was rank with rotted flesh.
"You know, there's really no excuse for poor dental hygiene," Dean quipped sarcastically.
Dean felt something tear inside of him and couldn't help a groan from escaping. Every little struggle to get free brought him fresh waves of pain.
Suddenly, there was a shot and just when Dean thought he'd lose consciousness, he felt himself drop to the floor. He looked over and saw Sam standing there, salt gun in hand. Dean couldn't help, but smile with pride at his little brother.
"Atta boy, Sammy," he said under his breath before he lost consciousness.
Sam placed the gun nearby then ran over to Dean. He shook him gently to try and wake him up, fear etched on his face.
"Dean? Dean? Wake up! Please wake up," Sam called out, worried that Dean might be more seriously hurt.
Dean groaned as he came back to consciousness slowly, every inch of him ached, especially his head. He reached back to where the source of the pain was. He hissed at touching the wound and his hand came away bloody. He closed his eyes to stave off dizziness and took in a breath.
"Dean? Are you all right?" Sam asked.
"I've been better, but I think I'll live," Dean said.
"I've gotta go find, Dad. You're bleeding," Sam said, noticing Dean's bloody hand.
"No, Sam, wait, I'm gonna need your help."
"What can I do?"
"I hit my head pretty hard. I might have a concussion. You have to help me stay awake so we can fight off the spirit if it comes back. I can't fight it alone."
"I don't know…" Sam said, his voice trembled with uncertainty.
Dean knew that he couldn't fall unconscious and much as he loved the sound of his voice, he didn't think he could maintain a one-sided conversation that would keep him awake plus the pain in his chest was getting worse. He was sure something had happened when the spirit had lifted him into its stranglehold, though he wasn't sure what. He had felt something pull inside of him. He felt light headed and he felt his body quiver with pain.
"Sam, I need you to stay with me, okay?" Dean said sincerely then a thought came to mind that he knew would help calm Sam. "I need you to protect me."
Sam perked up. Dean was putting his life into his hands and though it scared him, he knew that he couldn't let Dean down. He was depending on him and trusting him. Sam owed him for all the times he had risked his life for him.
"Okay, Dean," Sam said, his voice betraying again his uncertainty and fear of failing Dean.
Dean picked up on it and knew he had to help Sam feel reassured.
"I'll be okay, Sammy, I promise. Long as you're here, protecting me, I'll be okay."
Sam perked again and smiled.
"Really? Can I really be your protector?"
Dean smiled back and knew he had found his opening. He nodded.
"You've always been my protector, Dean. I want to do that for you too."
"You always do that for me, Sammy. You always cover my back, right? You shot that spirit and saved me, didn't you?"
"Yeh. Yeh, I guess I did, huh?" Sam smiled.
Dean's smile twisted into a grimace then he groaned. His breathing turned shallower. He closed his eyes and Sam panicked.
"Dean? Stay with me, please! You have to stay awake until Dad finds us remember?"
Dean nodded and opened his eyes again. Sam bit his lip and Dean recognized it as Sam's way of hiding his fear. He then looked at him with a touch of sadness.
"What is it, Sam?" Dean asked, concerned.
"Nothing."
"Come on, kid, I thought you could tell me everything. No secrets, right?"
Sam nodded.
"I'm just a little scared, is all."
"It's okay to be scared, Sammy. There's nothing wrong with that."
"You're never scared."
"What makes you think that?" Dean asked surprised.
"I don't know, you just always…I don't know," Sam stuttered.
"Well, I do get scared sometimes. We see some pretty scary stuff."
"Name one thing that scares you," Sam challenged lightly.
Dean looked into Sam's eyes and knew the answer immediately. Losing Sam. That scared him deep inside his soul, but he couldn't tell Sam that not when Sam needed all the reassurance that Dean could give him.
"Girls," Dean blurted out.
"Phhft, no way!" Sam said, an expression of disbelief on his face.
"Yes, way," Dean admitted.
"Like you need to be worried. Girls throw themselves at you."
"Yeh, well, I didn't say they were scared of me," Dean joked back with a shaky smile.
Sam smiled and for a second, anyway, the worry left his face and Dean felt a sense of relief, but no sooner had he thought that than the smile left Sam.
"You think Dad's okay?" Sam asked.
"I know he's okay. He'll be back, Sammy. I promise," Dean said as he clenched in pain again.
It didn't go unnoticed by Sam.
"Dean? You okay?" Sam asked, worry back in his voice.
"Yeh, my ribs, they just hurt like a mother, but I'll be okay," Dean breathed heavily through his pain.
This time, though, Dean's reassurances weren't convincing enough for Sam and he saw it in Sam's eyes.
"Dean, I don't think I can do it."
"Do what?" Dean asked, concerned and confused.
"Protect you. I'm not good enough. I should have listened to Dad more…I…" Sam stuttered again.
"Sam, listen to me. You're doing fine…"
"You got hurt because of me…because you were protecting me."
"No, I got hurt because of a pissed off spirit. You shot it and you saved me, remember? You did that, Sam. Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn't."
Sam listened intently to Dean then just shrugged.
"Getting hurt is sometimes a part of the job, okay? You hear me?" Dean continued.
"I hear you," Sam said with a small smile.
Dean was struggling to keep pain and consciousness under control, doing everything he could to make sure that Sam didn't worry about him.
Suddenly they both heard heavy footsteps coming towards them.
"Sam, salt gun," Dean commanded softly.
Sam reached for it and aimed it, ready for whatever was heading their way, training taking over almost instinctively. Dean watched, hating that he couldn't protect Sam, but proud of seeing Sam take over the situation, holding the gun steady in his small hands.
The footsteps got closer and closer then a large shadow emerged into the scant light in the room. Dean caught the familiar profile of their father's face and relaxed, letting the pain he was holding back hit him. They'd be safe now.
"Dad!" Sam cried out as he dropped the gun and ran to him. "Dean's hurt!"
John ran over to check on his wounded, oldest son. Dean looked up, his body raging in pain and his face no longer able to hide it.
"Did you get it, Dad?" Dean asked breathlessly.
John could only smile at how Dean always thought of their safety first.
"Yeh, son, I got it. Now, let's take a look at you," John said in that fatherly tone.
John opened Dean's shirt and noticed the dark bruising on his torso and the blood dripping down his neck, probably from a head wound, John surmised.
"It's not that bad, Dad," Dean grimaced, hissed, and groaned as his father gently examined him.
"It's bad enough that I can't fix it. You might have a broken rib and you definitely have a head injury, but I don't think I have to tell you that, do I?" John asked, knowing the answer.
Dean just shook his head, realizing it was a mistake as soon as he did it. The world spun and stars flickered in front of his eyes.
"Gotta get you to a hospital. Sam?" John called out.
"Yeh, Dad?" Sam responded obediently, wanting to be useful and help Dean.
"Get the gun and cover us, just in case, while I help your brother out."
"Yes, sir," Sam said, glad to be trusted by their father to protect them both.
Dean cried out when John lifted him to his feet and Sam couldn't help, but cringe at the sound. He hardly ever heard Dean yell out in pain and when he did, it was usually bad.
"Hang on, son," John reassured Dean.
Dean just nodded as he clenched in unrelenting pain.
They got out of the house and John laid Dean as gently as he could into the back seat of the Impala.
"Sammy, stay with your brother. Keep him awake."
"Okay, Dad," Sam said as he climbed into the back, placing Dean's head in his lap. Dean moaned with the shooting pain that hit his head.
"Sorry, Dean," Sam said.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured.
John jumped into the driver's seat and started the Impala. The roar of its engine giving its own kind of comfort, as if to say it would keep everyone in its care safe. John gunned it onto the road and headed towards the nearest hospital.
"Dean? You awake?" Sam asked.
"How can I sleep with you yammering away?" Dean joked.
Sam smiled, knowing Dean was teasing to keep him calm.
"Dean?" Sam said.
"Yeh?"
"Promise me you won't leave me."
John listened and his face fell at the thought that Sam was so afraid of losing Dean. He'd always known how protective Dean had been with Sam. Since that terrible night, Dean had taken it upon himself to make sure that Sam would always be safe, a job that should have been his, but that had fallen to Dean as naturally as if it had been decreed by some higher power and Dean had taken it on without a second thought. John took for granted that no matter what happened to him, Dean would make sure that no harm would come to Sam, that Dean would rather die first. There was a twinge of sadness at having encouraged that responsibility in Dean, but John knew it was necessary. He wasn't going to live forever. He now could see Sam's dependency on Dean. Sam needed Dean. Maybe more than he had needed him and John was okay with that. Hell, if John were to admit it, he needed Dean. He was doing his best to prepare them both for the inheritance that he had unwillingly been given, making them into as skilled hunters as they could be, but he knew that he had to sacrifice being a true father to them in order to do it. Dean had taken care of them both and Sam had grown to expect that Dean would always be there for him. All John could hope to do was protect both his sons from harm for as long as he could, but he often prayed that Dean would never be taken away, not from Sam, not from them both because he knew that if he ever failed to save Dean, Sam would be lost to him. They would be lost to each other.
"What are you talking about? Don't go all maudlin on me, Sam. I'm not going anywhere. I'm just banged up is all," Dean said, surprised and a little scared at Sam's declaration.
"Yeh, this time, but…"
"But nothing. I'll be okay. It'll all be okay."
Sam nodded his head. He then shifted to the casual-speak of two brothers giving each other a hard time to keep Dean awake until they got to the hospital.
oooo
John pulled up to the emergency room doors and quickly pulled Dean out of the back seat into his arms. He caught a moment of panic in Sam's eyes that told him that he didn't want to let Dean go. Sam then snapped back to reality and followed them out.
John called out for help and ER doctors gathered around him, taking Dean from him, placing him on an available gurney. John explained to the doctors what was wrong with Dean and smoothly lied about how he had gotten injured. They wheeled Dean away to work on him and all John could do was wait. Something he wasn't good at. He wasn't a patient man as his sons could attest to. It seemed he had spent much of his life waiting in hospitals or being a patient in them. Once Dean had disappeared out of eyeshot, he turned to look for Sam. He found him sitting in the waiting room, working his fingers and swinging his legs nervously. He walked over to him and bent down to be eye-level with him.
"Sammy? You all right there, son?" John asked softly. "Were you hurt?"
Sam just shook his head, but his face slowly started to betray the emotions he was feeling.
"What is it?" John asked, really feeling concerned that Sam was breaking in front of him. A quiet Sam wasn't a normal Sam.
Sam's face then collapsed completely and he couldn't stop the tears.
"It's my fault, Dad. Dean got hurt because of me. I wasn't a good enough protector," Sam hiccupped out between breaths.
John watched his youngest son, who had lost his mother before ever knowing her, along with her, his innocence and felt an ache in his heart. It reminded him how young Sam still was. He was only 13 and having to worry about losing his brother shouldn't be what a 13 year old should be doing.
John stood up, sat in the chair next to Sam, and put his hand on his back.
"Sam, this isn't your fault. You did fine. I saw you with that gun in your hand, ready to shoot anything coming between you and Dean. You would have had it dead to rights. I'm proud of you."
Sam looked into his father's eyes, his own wet with shed tears.
"None of that matters if Dean dies," Sam croaked, unable to enjoy the rare compliment from his father, too scared of losing Dean, making everything all for nothing.
"I promise you that Dean'll be fine. Sometimes getting hurt –"
"Is part of the job," Sam finished. "Dean said that."
"Your brother's right," John confirmed.
Sam still worried his hands.
"Dad?"
"Yeh?"
"I want to be a better hunter so I can protect Dean. I know I can never be as good as you or him, but I don't want Dean to get hurt anymore because of me."
John watched his son and found himself feeling such pride for both his sons.
"Sam, you are a good hunter. Dean knows that. I know that. Give yourself some time. It will come on its own. I know I ride both you boys hard, but –"
"It's important. I know and I'll try to be better."
John swallowed hard and was at a loss for words.
oooo
After a couple of hours passed by, Sam had fallen asleep in John's lap, exhaustion finally winning. John lovingly stroked Sam's head in comfort, hoping to keep him peacefully sleeping for as long as he could. John couldn't sleep, wouldn't sleep until he knew Dean was going to be all right. Sitting around, helpless to do anything more for Dean other than wait, allowed thoughts of guilt and pride to fill his mind. He was proud of how capable and skilled Dean had become as a hunter, but at the same time, it saddened him to watch him love doing the job so much. Dean tried to keep up the façade of being an average teenager and John would see it in his confident bluster and flirtatious appreciation of the girls, but then there times like these, when Dean was injured beyond his ability to heal him that made John realize that Dean was far from being average. At 17, Dean did things that no young man should ever have to do or see, but he knew it was too late to regret what Dean was becoming and the weight of responsibility that John had placed upon him. Dean had taken to it and would never surrender it now.
Sam was also growing up too fast. He didn't take to the life as easily as Dean and as painful as it was for John, he had to be the hardest on him, dragging Sam kicking and screaming at times, to do the training. He tried to convince himself that he was doing it for both their sakes and safety, but the older his sons got, the harder that excuse was to swallow as he watched them transform into hunting machines. He still knew it was necessary, but he couldn't run away from the fact that he had brought the evil they had to fend off upon them. Still, he watched as Sam progressed and noticed that he had been responding to Dean's encouragement more and more. Sam tried harder to please Dean and John began to see the bond between them grow even stronger. Sam had always clung to Dean, as John's trips away got longer. Dean did more than just help Sam train. When Sam was younger, Dean had fed him, washed him, clothed him, and had read him bedtime stories. Sometimes John would walk in silently on them and would hear Dean telling Sam that John was a hero, fighting off evil to explain why he wasn't always around or away so long. It would cut like a knife that his eldest would have to make excuses for him to his youngest.
Finally, a doctor had emerged and had told him that Dean would be fine. John took in a deep breath and sighed with relief. He had a fractured rib that they had immobilized and a deep gash at the back of his head, but no concussion. The doctor told them it would be okay to visit for a little while, but that Dean needed to rest. Sam woke up in the middle of the conversation and John told him that Dean would be okay and that they could go and see him. Sam bolted from the chair causing both John and the doctor to smile.
They entered the room together and saw that Dean was up and awake.
"Hey, there, Sammy. See? Told you I was going to be okay," Dean quickly assured in a tired tone of voice. "Hey, Dad. You okay?"
It never ceased to amaze John how instinctual it was for Dean to put the both of them first, to make Sam feel better and to make him feel cared about. There were so many little qualities like that that had reminded him of Mary and had brought home how much Dean had learned during his four short years with her. He understood why Sam was so much like him, rebellious and full of resistance. John was all Sam had known. Dean, on the other hand, had his mother, had seen and felt her kindness towards them and to others, had watched her give of her compassion without expectation of any in return. Dean had learned his mother's lessons well and had applied them even in the brutal world that John had thrust him into. He had seen it many times. Dean was the best amalgam of John's training and Mary's humanity.
"I'm fine, son. It's good to see you up."
"Nothing could keep me down," Dean joked, his cockiness still there. It made John smile. Dean acting cocky meant he was going to be all right.
"Dean…I…" Sam stumbled.
John sensed that Sam needed to talk to Dean alone and feigned going to get some coffee as an excuse to leave them alone. He patted Sam on the back as a way to tell him that it was all right then left the room.
"What is it?" Dean asked, worried.
"Nothing, it's just that I talked with Dad and I'm going to try harder to be a better hunter," Sam blurted quickly.
"Well, that's great, Sam, but you already are a good –"
"Not good enough, Dean. I don't want you to get hurt anymore on account of me, because I couldn't shoot fast enough or something. I want to be your protector too. Just like you are to me."
Dean was taken aback by the conviction in Sam's voice. He knew that Sam had hated the training, the drills, everything about becoming a hunter so to hear him say that he would work harder at doing what he hated, took him by surprise.
"Listen, Sam, if you want to work on the training, that's fine, and I'm okay with that if it's really what you want, but I don't ever want to hear you say that you're not a good enough hunter because you are and I have never gotten hurt because of you. You're my brother. It's my job to protect you and I'd do anything to keep you safe, just like Dad does for us. Are we clear on that?" Dean said with equal conviction.
Sam looked at his older brother and smiled. Dean always knew the right thing to say. Though he loved hearing their dad tell him that he was proud of him and would never take that for granted because it was offered so little, Dean's words meant the world to Sam. Dean never said anything he didn't mean and he always offered encouragement whenever Sam needed it and sometimes when he didn't. Sam could always count on Dean.
"We're clear."
"Good. Now, let me get some sleep, will ya?"
Dean laid back and Sam sat next to him in nearby chair, laying his head on the bed. John walked in after, admittedly, listening in on their conversation. Hearing Dean tell Sam that he would always protect him because it was his job as his brother was heart breaking and heart warming all at the same time. Hearing Sam declare the very same thing reminded John that no matter what happened, they would protect each other. If any good had come from John's training, it was that his sons would always trust and rely on each other.
John watched as his two sons slept peacefully next to each other and allowed himself the fleeting, but cherished joy of being proud to be their father, deep down knowing he didn't deserve such devoted sons.