This story is based on the conversation Dean and Bobby had in 1x22 "Devil's Trap"

"Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure if we should come…"

"Nonsense, your daddy needs help."

"Well, yeah… But last time we saw you, I mean… You threatened to blast him full of buck-shot.
Cocked the shotgun and everything!"

"Yeah. Well… What can I say?
John just has that effect on people…"

"Yeah… I guess he does…"

Dean leaned against the passenger side of the Impala. His left side ached, had done so since Nevada and that spirit tossing him across the room he had been in, landing him on a weak patch of the old building's floor. When he landed in the room below, it had been on the top of an old piano. And then he had fallen to the floor…

It had hurt like a son of a bitch! And his left thigh was black and blue, literally BLACK and BLUE! He felt like throwing up every time he stepped down on it, but it held him up… It wasn't broken, well… at least not that bad…

His left arm, on the other hand, it had to be broken… His fingers refused to grip, refused to move. And every time he tried to do so, he wound up cussing and biting his teeth in an attempt to avoid crying.
He couldn't let his father see him cry…

This was the last stop before Singer Salvage in South Dakota. They were just a few miles away, but his dad had insisted on taking a break at a diner. Get some grub and take a piss…

Hadn't it been for his well based knowledge, about the fact that dad would have sent out a fist in a catapult motion towards his shoulder, or arm, or whatever the hell he managed to hit… And that he knew that he would wind up a sobbing wreck if dad did so…
Dean would have made a joke about dad having the bladder of a pregnant lady…
But he didn't…

Instead he limped over to the diner, and found a table for him and dad. It was Sunday and the diner was almost full of all kinds of people. Then he waited for his dad to get out of the restroom so they could order. When he reached the table, he thought about how it would be least painful to sit down.

He held his left leg stiff, not that it would bend anyway, and gripped the back of his chair with his right hand. Then he lowered himself slowly. His face twisted in pain as he met the seat, yeah, sitting wasn't his favorite pastime right now. Maybe because his thigh was all kinds of bruised right now? And his knee was about the same size as a soccer ball…? Maybe…

He could feel the other people in the diner staring at him, the shiner that had taken the right side of his face hostage and the fact that he limped like someone who tried a false leg for the first time pointed towards one thing… He was being beaten…

The fact that his own knuckles was bruised could actually help them get out of this, but only if dad's wasn't… Fact was… Dad looked almost as bad as he did…

But he didn't limp, or need a cast for that sake…

After a few minutes dad came walking out from the men's restroom, he had a busted lip and a cut across the bridge of his nose.

Dean was 24 years old, but he could still feel how people around him debated whether to call CPS or not… It was a feeling he had practically grown up with, and he hated it.

"Hey, pa. Thanks for saving my as yesterday…" Dean said as John was about to sit down, "Those guys were just about to end me…"

John were used to just go with it... So he did.

"Yeah, no problem… Next time you decide to get your ass handed to you, please let me know in advance!" John said and caressed the knuckles on his right hand. "What did you do to piss those guys off anyway?"

"Hit on the wrong girl I guess…" Dean smiled, well, as far as his own busted lip would allow him… "One minute I was flirting with this beautiful blonde with green eyes, the next minute I was being hauled outside by three guys… Next thing I know, I'm getting my ass kicked!"

"You really need to calm down, you know that right?"

"I didn't do anything, they hit first!"

"Yeah, but I bet you had one of your smartass remarks somewhere between trying to pick up that girl and being hauled outside… Didn't you?"

"Ahhh… you got me…"

"Well… Good thing there wasn't any fractures, at least that's something…"

Dean just nodded, well knowing that his left arm had at least one fracture… Dad probably knew too, he had seen him trying to test his hand a few times in the car…

…

They finished eating, John had the special, Dean settled for a regular cheeseburger. He hadn't been sure whether he could keep it down anyway, so…

They sat there for a little while, just chit-chatting, before they paid and decided to leave.

Getting out of the chair was just as painful, if not more so. A small grunt of pain left his lips as he stepped down on his left leg a little earlier than he thought. Then he gritted his teeth, and started limping towards the car. Pretty sure his leg was just banged up good, and not broken.

People say that there is nothing like bone-pain. But when you've had as many injuries as Dean had, it all just kind of blended together… But he knew his arm was broken, he could feel the exact places it was fractured too. The bone between his pinky and wrist, another one an inch above his wrist and then again five-six inches above his wrist.

He let out an involuntary gasp of pain as he lowered himself into the passenger seat of the Impala once again. He was glad that dad also was tall, that way there was enough room for his painful leg to be stretched out in front of him. Without having to sit sideways in the backseat.

…

Bobby was out on the porch when they arrived. He was sitting in the sun and reading an old book, something about demons and traps. Just like he always did…

A cussword escaped Dean's lips as he tried to make his way out of the Impala. His knee was not meant to bend, yeah, that was the problem. It refused to bend at all!

Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he did his best to get out of the seat of the Impala. When he finally managed to do so, he had to take a break just to gather himself, therefore he leaned against the door hoping that his leg would give him a minute of rest.

He could avoid using his left hand for heavy-duty things, but he had to walk…

"Grow a pair, you sissy!" his dad commanded with a harsh voice. Dean obeyed as best as he could.

His stomach coiled and twisted each time he put weight on his left leg. His shoulders tensed up, the muscles in his back tightened and he just wished he could lie down right there. He slowly made it over to the porch, just in time for Bobby to look up and see how badly Dean limped.

"What the…" Bobby managed to say before he was at his feet beside Dean.

"What the hell happened to you kid?" he asked as he started to maneuver himself under Dean's left arm. All though Dean's shoulder was somewhere along 'okay' he still let out a sharp cry when Bobby lifted his arm.

Bobby froze in his tracks. He knew very well that this kid didn't complain unless it was something. So this was definitely something!

"What happened?" he demanded. He had released Dean's left side and went to grab a hold of his right side instead.

"Just got tossed a bit, think I broke my arm. Banged my leg up good too…" Dean answered through strained breathing.

"Let me take a look at it when we get inside, Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks Bobby!" Dean smiled, before his eyes settled on the small flight of stairs in front of him. He did not look forward to that.

"Come on, It's not even that bad!" his dad said from the top of the stairs. He was getting annoyed.

…

"Holy crap, kiddo!" Bobby exclaimed as he saw Dean's leg. Swollen and colorful. The bruise started somewhere hidden by Dean's boxer briefs and extended all the way down to his ankle.

It was about 50 shades of black and blue. It was just massive.

"You need a doctor! Why haven't you been to one already?!" Bobby nearly yelled at him.

"We had to push on…" John answered calmly from the kitchen. "Had no time for small stuff like that…"

Dean could see how the anger Bobby felt boiled below the surface.

"Well, Dean needs some time off!" Bobby answered as calmly as he could. "And he needs to go to the hospital."

"I'll take him the day after tomorrow, if we get the time." John was well into his second or third glass of whiskey. At this point there was not much that could press through that skull of his.

"Well… You can pack your things and get out of my house right now! And I hope for your sake that you're gone before we get back from the hospital!" Bobby wasn't calm anymore. He was furious at John for taking such bad care of his elder son.
Sammy was lucky, he had left for school… But he had grown up with Corporal. J. Winchester as a father. The kid wasn't that lucky after all...

"What? He hasn't complained that much!"

"He hasn't! Well… Look at that! That justifies everything, doesn't it?!" Bobby stopped to draw more air down into his lungs. "Maybe, just maybe that's because you run your boys so hard that they don't dare to tell when things hurt? Because they know they will get their asses whooped!"

…

Ten hours later, Dean and Bobby returned from the hospital. Dean had not just one, but two brand new casts. His lower left arm was covered with cast. And his left leg was put in a cast from toe to hip.
-That much for not broken…

Dean managed to walk around with crutches like this, but he didn't put any weight on his left arm like he normally would. He just leaned on the top of the crutches, and lifted them with him.

The Impala was still in the driveway, something that made Dean's gut sink.

He hated being injured and close to his dad. Well… Being visibly injured was the worst.

Bobby parked the truck outside the house, and looked over at Dean. Dean felt like Bobby read his mind, hell, maybe he really did.

"You just sit here, I'll go do something about your stubborn old dad…"

Dean didn't do exactly as asked, he did follow Bobby up to the porch, then inside where they found John sleeping on the coach.

Judging from the bottle on the kitchen table, he hadn't had more than one, maybe two drinks after all… That was good.

"Okay, since you didn't stay in the car. You might as well hobble over to that corner right there…" Bobby advised as he pointed towards the corner by the bookshelf.

Dean nodded and went to stand by the corner, while Bobby went to get a shotgun.

…

"JOHN WINCHESTER!" Bobby shouted standing a few feet away from John.

John stirred awake. Saw the barrel of the pump-action and sat up.

"What?" he said a little drowsy.

"Told you to be gone when we got back, didn't I?" Bobby said with a dry voice, "Now GET!"

John got to his feet, and moved away from the coach. He was in no hurry at all.

"Get out of my damn house!" Bobby said, this time even louder.

"Awww… Come on Bobby… You were just joking! Right?" John tried, as Bobby herded him towards the door.

"No, I wasn't!" Bobby growled and raised the barrel to John's chest. "Now get going! Or I'll shoot!"

John made no move to go, so Bobby cocked the shotgun, "I mean it John, MOVE!"

At that cue, John made a beeline for the car. Before he tore off down the road.

…

After the taillights disappeared, Bobby turned around to face Dean. Dean was standing in the same corner as earlier, and looked like he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or keep quiet.

"Now, let's get you settled boy…" Bobby said as he placed the shotgun in another corner. "You must be dog-tired…"

"Yeah…" Dean answered with a smile, "Hah, I can't think of a time when I've seen him more afraid!"

"You can't?"

"Nope"

Bobby shook his head silently. He himself felt more scared every time his boys walked out of his door, to go on wild adventures with their blood father…

Well, hope you liked it!