Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.

A/N: So, at the moment, I have got a severe case of writer's block when it comes to Sittin' In a Tree. I am planning to finish it, I just don't know exactly how yet. Don't give up; it will be updated one day. Till then, I'm on this story.

John had never thought it was possible for him to miss Sam's fighting. To miss Sam's smart aleck responses, his occasional abrasiveness, his constant questioning of John's orders. But to see Sam in the backseat of the car, staring out the window and trying to hide the fact that he was grinding his teeth in pain, John wanted to crawl under the seat and disappear forever.

As he drove towards Bobby's, John thought of the events over the last few days. They'd gone on a hunt for a supposed werewolf. It seemed so obvious to John. The hearts missing out of the victims. The testimony of a witness that said the 'mugger' picked up a dumpster and threw it at one of the victims to stop him running. The way that same witness swore that when he shot the mugger, the wound was healed almost instantly. John had been absolutely certain that it was a werewolf, and Dean was practically salivating to get the chance to 'waste that overgrown dog'.

But, as always, Sam had other ideas.

"I don't think it's a werewolf, Dad."

Sam had tried to explain. It was too easy, Sam claimed. The lore is based on different stories of werewolves. If one monster fits almost every aspect of a werewolf, Sam argued, it was probably too easy.

"We should research this some more, Dad."

But John had been so certain that he was right, and that Sam was just trying to argue, that the only thing he'd permitted them to bring was silver bullets and a silver knife each. On any other hunt, he would have insisted they bring other weapons, just in case. In case it was something else, just like Sam was arguing it was. Of course, now that he thought about it, John should have been proud that Sam was developing a hunting instinct. That he was thinking about things on a deep level. But his damn pride didn't allow him to.

Then came the actual hunt. The werewolf was found easily. And John had been left with a gaping mouth when Dean shot it with a silver bullet…and the werewolf barely slowed down. It jumped after Dean, who was barely able to get away, then pounced on Sam. Despite seeing the silver bullet not slowing the thing down, John still emptied his gun into him. The distraction worked, and Dean was able to get away. But the pseudo werewolf didn't go after John. It simply grinned and turned to Sam. Sam started shouting an exorcism, one that John had never heard before. The werewolf jumped on Sam and scuffled with him. As John and Dean rushed to help him, they heard a sickening snap and a scream coming from Sam, but Sam continued to fight bravely. The werewolf stopped moving, and John pulled it off Sam as Dean tried to pull Sam to his feet.

The scream of pain that Sam let out set John's teeth on edge. There were no outward visible signs of an injury, but Dean was pulling up Sam's shirt to check for broken ribs.

"Not my ribs." Sam gritted out. "Leg."

John rolled up Sam's pant leg and that's when he saw it. Sam's leg was clearly broken. Bone was sticking out. His ankle was already swelling and turning black and blue. It seemed the werewolf, or whatever they had just fought, had landed directly on Sam's leg. John outweighed Sam by almost one hundred pounds of mostly muscle, and he had had trouble pulling the werewolf off him. It was a miracle, he thought, that the leg wasn't smashed completely.

Sam had allowed Dean to comfort him as he got treated at the hospital, allowed him to be there as the leg was set and the doctor explained that Sam had a long recovery ahead of him. John expected Sam to blame him, tell him what a lousy father he was, and that he never would've been hurt if John had just listened to him.

The worst part was, John knew that Sam was right.

But Sam didn't fight. He simply sat in the back and stared out the window. John hoped that most of the silence was due to the strong pain medication he'd been given. As John pulled the Impala into Bobby's yard, he decided to break the ice.

"Alright, boys. Inside and straight to bed. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Dean replied.

"Yes, sir."

"Sam, I'll help you inside." John said as he turned off the car.

"I've got it, sir." Sam said. It was the first sign of any kind of resistance from Sam.

John sighed. He was so tired he couldn't even bring himself to tell Sam to listen to him. "Sam, please. Let me or Dean help you inside. If you put too much pressure on that leg you might hurt it more."

"I'll let Dean do it."

"Sure, bud." Dean said, hoping to defuse the palpable tension in the car.

"Sam." John nearly faltered when Sam looked at him. The look there, one of pain and betrayal and exhaustion, was one John had seen before, but never to this degree. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"You know for what." John said.

"No, actually, I don't."

"Sam, I'm sorry you got hurt." John ground out. Maybe he should've let Sam continue his silence.

"Why did I get hurt, Dad?"

John threw up his hands. "Forget it. Go to bed."

"No. You want to talk about this, I want you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

"It's your fault I got hurt. I got hurt because you made a mistake. Because you didn't listen to me."

You don't think I know that? John thought, but his stubbornness took over again. "Excuse me?"

"It's your fault, Dad. I can't walk for at least two months. I told you it wasn't a werewolf. I told you it was too easy. Why didn't you listen to me?"

"I know what the hell I'm doing, Sam."

"Yeah. I can tell. Have fun walking into Bobby's house while Dean has to help me." Sam said.

"Sam, please don't do this…"

"Don't do what? Blame you when you deserve it? Tell me something, Dad. If Dean or I had made a stupid mistake that got you hurt, would you ever let us hear the end of it?"

John was stuttering. Sam was right. If their positions had been reversed, and Sam had gone after a monster and not known how to kill it, he would run Sam through endless drills until he understood what he'd done wrong.

"What can I do, Sam?"

"Make me walk again." Sam said bitterly. "Heal my legs and my ankle so I can walk again." When John frowned, Sam said, "That's what I thought. And like you always tell me when I screw up, sorry isn't enough. Dean, come on. I'm exhausted."

As Sam and Dean walked up to Bobby's, who met the two of them at the door, John's heart felt heavy. Sam was barely able to get there, even with Dean's help. John could see the pained look on his face. John wondered what Mary would think about his inability to take responsibility to Sam for what he'd done. John knew the problem was his own stubbornness. He was afraid that if he admitted to Sam it was his fault Sam had been hurt, he would lose Sam's respect permanently.

Like you have it now, John thought bitterly.

John pulled the key out of the ignition and could see Bobby glaring at him. I'm sorry, Sam, he thought again. Dragging his feet, he stepped out of the car and into the house, wondering how he would ever make this up to Sam. Or if he even could.