Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or elements. This is purely fanfiction.
AN: Dean's about 16 in this fic... Sam around 12...
AN2: Normal parents have a LOT to deal with... imagine trying to raise TWO sons as hunters...
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A Duck or a Goose
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"OWW Damnit!" A twelve year-old Sammy screamed, clutching his –broken- nose.
"Don't swear like that, Dad's going to have a fit if he hears you," Dean chides with a smirk.
Sam growled, but that little retort was followed by a wince as his bloody nose reacted harshly to the airflow. "You're not supposed to hit on the nose..." Sam said, looking like a kicked puppy. Or possibly a wet kitten. Or a combination of the two.
"That's for our sparring sessions... Dad said Wednesdays are training sessions..." Dean said, counting the days off on his hand, leaving his middle finger in the air and wiggling it with an excessive amount of audacity.
Sam pouted for a second before turning on his heel and walking away from the playground.
"Aww... come on, Sammy!" Dean yelled, laughing as he trotted after his brother. "Need a tissue?"
"What I need is not having a broken nose," Sam said, having to tilt his head backwards and pinching the bridge of his nose.
In a second, Dean's got his hand on the back of Sam's neck, tilting his head back forwards, "Don't do that... you're going to make yourself sick..." he said and frowned worriedly at the rate his brother's nose has started to bleed. "We'll get some ice on it when we're back home..."
"It's not a home... " Sam corrected icily, still in a foul mood.
"We're all there together... it's a home," Dean reminded him softly and opened the door of the motel room they were staying in.
John was sitting in the kitchen, cleaning his gun equipment, seemingly not paying attention to the front door from which his sons just entered. He wasn't perturbed by his eldest son waltzing into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of frozen sweet corn and walking back to the TV room. Not even when he heard Sam's mumbled cursing and the hiss that followed the rustle of the makeshift ice-pack.
"Dad?" Sam said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Hm?" John replied, working some grease into the slide of the nine mil.
"Can you tell Dean to stop hitting me on the nose when we're training?" Sam said, shooting a glare towards his brother.
"Why don't you tell him that yourself?" John retorts casually, checking the barrel and refitting the slide to it.
"Umm..." and with that, his youngest is silent for a minute too long and John ends up sighing heavily.
"Dean, stop punching Sam on the nose," he reprimands half-heartedly, not that he can envision the ultimate fruitfulness his little correction will bring to either of his sons. In his opinion, getting punched in the schnozzle was a lot like earning a rite of passage.
"It wasn't on purpose," Dean cheekily answered. Smart-ass.
"Dean, stop accidentally on purpose hitting your brother on the nose," John said and didn't have to lean too far forwards to be able to see his son with the smirk on his face in the living room.
"Right," Dean answered curtly. Smart kid.
"Come here," John motioned to Sam, setting the equipment aside and finally getting a look at Dean's handiwork. He set the bag of corn on the counter and had to hand Sam his handkerchief to stem the bloody Nile. Good gravy. The purple nose was crooked, almost at an oblique angle, with the cartilage sticking out white against the peach skin. A FULLY broken nose.
Sam's not too happy about having to be submitted to a nose-inspection, but he still stands all 'Commando' faced and stoic.
"Ready?" John asked, having taken hold of his youngest son's nose. At least broken noses was something he knew how to fix. Bad relationships or dysfunctional family-life, how the hell was he supposed to fix that?
Sammy's got a twitch to his eye and pauses,"Um... Okkaa-AYAYAYAYAAAHh!" he ends up yelping his affirmative as the twist to realign his nose sent his sensitive nose to burnt-by-red-hot-poker-land. And that was not a fun place to be.
"You okay?" John asked, handing his son the bag of veggies again. He rubbed Sam's back for a moment before smiling, "Why'd you let Dean get in a shot?"
Sam suddenly realized his father actually expected him not to be beaten by his brother, even if just by a single punch."Uh... I got distracted?" Sam tried his answer unsurely.
John ruffled Sam's hair, "You're not going to let that happen again, will you?" he asked, smiling reassuringly.
"No!" Sam's voice suddenly filled with some determination.
From the TV room, John can see Dean's hand lift up for a second, throwing him a thumbs-up. He understands what his father was trying to do, and John respected Dean for that.
Sam turned on his heel and headed to the TV room, sitting next to Dean and started watching Transformers with him. "Dean... can you show me that move later?"
"Sure, freak..." Dean said and poked Sam on the side of the head, "And maybe I can teach you how to duck too..."
"I did duck!" Sam retorted, wincing again as the ice-pack moved. He whined unabashedly, still trying to hold the handkerchief in place as well.
"I think your duck is more like a goose... " Dean grinned, turning up the volume of the TV louder to drown out Sam's –no doubt colourful- retort. "Sorry... can't hear you... the TV's too loud!"
And John was relieved. Maybe... he was on the right track with his sons after all.
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Thanks for reading!