Written for the 2017 Supernatural Summergen. Dean didn't like to get too close. Getting close only made the inevitable death harder. Yet, the people around him still seemed to worm their way into his heart.

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I'm A Cowboy

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Despite Ellen's accusations and his flirtations, Dean did in fact know the meaning of the term jailbait. Jo was cute, in that way girls had before they turned into smoking hot coeds, but she really did look about twelve and Dean had enough self-respect to make sure nothing went beyond casual flirting.

Dean Winchester's personal motto: it never hurt to flirt.

Besides, he recognized that shine in her eyes. He'd seen it get a few good kids into trouble. That look was the craving for the glory of the hunt without any recognition of the dangers that lay ahead. Dean Winchester was born for hunting. He'd gladly let anyone have a go that wanted to, but dedicating your life to it out of some misplaced sense of glory or revenge – that got you killed.

Still, Jo was feisty and sassy and had all the fire that came with being young. She'd become like a little sister to him. So when some crazy city slicker came swaggering through the door to the Roadhouse, all bluster and ego, his hackles immediately rose.

Sam and Dean were sitting at the corner table, mostly hidden in the shadows as Ash plucked away at his laptop on the trail of a new lead. Sam's face was half lit from the glow of the screen as he leaned in to see what Ash was typing. Dean sat back, letting the two nerds geek out over whatever bit of techno wizardry Ash had managed this time around.

The crowd was a little subdued tonight, talking in a hushed murmur instead of the normal drunken roar. Dean could see Jo polishing glasses from his spot in the corner. When the door slammed open against the wall, nearly every single hand reached for a weapon, and the conversation stumbled as everyone eyed the newcomer.

Dean, already sweeping the room, let his gaze linger on the boy. He was dressed in biker leathers that had never seen the light of day and a pair of cowboy boots that had embroidered sequins up the side. He wore his cowboy hat cocked over a manicured eyebrow so that he had to keep his chin jutted unusually high to see anything around him.

He clacked up to an empty stool at the bar, set his hat aside and grinned at the gruff men beside him. Dean smirked. He'd just sat between Kurt, a quiet man who wouldn't put up with anybody's bullshit, and Jack, an angry drunk who'd just as soon punch anybody as listen to them. Jo caught his eye as she flicked the cloth she'd just been using over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at the idiot seated at her bar.

Dean snorted and turned back to Sam and Ash, who by now had narrowed their search to things actually pertaining to their hunt. Jo could handle one dorky city boy, hopefully without threatening to chop his balls off, but that might be entertaining too.

An hour later, and the dumb kid had managed to down three whiskey gingers. He was making obvious advances, but wasn't getting anywhere fast with Jo, who quickly shut him down at every turn.

"Come on, baby," he slurred as he leaned towards Jo, slopping a little of his drink onto the bar. His hand caught her wrist as he grinned. "Give us a good time here. I gots a lot of power in my engine if you catch my drift."

Dean winced and glanced over to check the situation. For the first time he noticed that Kurt and Jack had moved off so no one was in the immediate vicinity, but Jo was scowling at the guy. She grabbed his fingers in her free hand and pulled them back till they cracked. The boy yelped and jerked his hand back. Dean heard Jo say, "I said no. Now you can either finish your drink and leave or I can call the cops for harassment. Your choice."

The boy muttered something, glaring down at his drink, but did pick up the glass and downed the last of the liquor before stumbling to the door.

Dean watched him go before shooting a questioning glance at Jo. This time Jo rolled her eyes at him and waived him off before moving over to another customer and topping off a drink.

It was later, just after closing when Dean got a bad feeling in his gut. Ellen had disappeared upstairs with a stack of papers and Jo was finishing up the cleaning. She gathered up the trash and headed towards the side door. Dean was about to go out to the car when he heard the clank of empty bottles dropping outside.

He peaked his head out the door Jo had just gone through. The sight that met him sent a fizz of energy spiking through his veins. A few feet away, moving disjointedly across the gravel lot, was Dumb Kid with his right hand wrapped around Jo's face and his left arm gripping her torso. Jo was kicking and struggling so hard it was a wonder he hadn't dropped her yet, but he had a look of fierce determination as he pulled her along away from the building.

Dean didn't waste another second. He leapt over the busted trash bag and charged down the lot, pulling his gun as he went. He nestled it into the base of the guy's skull, right where his fancy hair flopped onto his neck. The sound of the gun being cocked made the guy freeze.

"Hands where I can see 'em," Dean growled. Dumb Kid flung his hands up straight over his head, and Jo landed with a thump on the ground, unprepared for the sudden release. Dean had to bite his lip at the response. Obviously the kid had never been threatened with a gun before. He was lucky Dean didn't really want to shoot him or he might have lost his head just then.

Dean nodded at Jo. "You okay?"

Jo jumped up and dusted herself off. "Fine. I'm fine. I almost had it sorted."

Dean snorted and shoved the guy forward. "Turn around."

Addison spun on the spot, grinding gravel under his fancy sequined boots. He was white as a sheet and looked decidedly more sober than he had all evening. "Come on man, don't hurt me. Please."

He was practically shaking. It was a wonder he hadn't peed himself yet. Dean eyed him up and down and shrugged. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't." He held his gun up, sighting down the barrel like a cowboy in a bad Clint Eastwood movie. He'd be surprised if the boy even knew what staring down the barrel of a gun meant if it didn't have a Hollywood theatricality to it. "It all depends. See you tried to hurt Jo here. And Jo, she's important to me."

Dumb Kid nodded frantically. "I'm sorry man. I didn't mean any harm."

Dean frowned and fired a shot over Dumb Kid's left shoulder. "You thought you could take what you want. What's to stop me from doing the same?"

"Please! I'll go. I won't ever come back. I swear. Just let me go!"

Dean squinted at him. "Nah." He raised the gun so it was pointed more directly at the guy. "See, I don't think you've learned your lesson. What happens at the next bar with the next girl?"

"I swear I won't. Never again!"

Dean frowned, and pulled his best thinking face, really starting to enjoy the bit. "I dunno. What do you think Jo?"

Jo stepped forward and scowled at the boy, careful never to come between Dean's gun and the boy's head. "I think he means it," Jo said, "But just to be sure…" She stepped back and kicked straight at Dumb Kid's jewels. Dean had a hard time keeping a straight face as he doubled over.

Dean nodded and motioned with his gun towards the moped that was sitting a few feet away. "All right then. Jo says you can go, you can go. But don't come back. And if I hear about any more…indiscretions, I'll be sure to come teach you a more memorable lesson. Got it?"

"Got it." The kid gasped as he stumbled and ran towards his ride. He climbed on, nutted or not, and spun out so fast he kicked up a cloud of dust that engulfed both Dean and Jo. As Dean tucked away the pistol, Jo punched him in the arm. "Was that necessary?" She asked.

"Hey, you think I'm gonna tell your momma I let you get roughed up by some pretty boy? I like my ass the shape it is, thank you very much."

"Yeah right. You just wanted to play action hero. Next time you get all chivalrous, why don't you go rescue Sam?"

Dean chuckled as he started collecting trash and stuffing it back into the bag. "Sam's too ugly to play damsel."

She laughed. "You got me there. Any way you won't tell her what happened?"

Dean frowned. "Remember the part about liking my ass? Yeah. What do you think?"

"Fine, but you know she heard that shot."

"It was a warning shot!" Dean spluttered. "It was nearly a mile wide of his head. Didn't even graze him."

"Don't matter. No one's supposed to fire a gun on the property if they know what's good for them." Jo grinned. "It's part of how we stay so civilized around here."

"Civilized, right." Dean muttered as he shoved the bag of trash into Jo's arms and patted her on the head. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to tell her you struggled your hardest, but the boy's charms won you out in the end."

Dean ducked the fist she threw at him and slipped back into the house, cackling. He had a thing or two to discuss with Ellen Harvelle.

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On a Steel Horse I Ride

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"Why do you know how to wield a sword?"

Dean grinned at Charlie's exasperated tone. She was leaning heavily on her wooden practice sword as she panted, sweat drenched and looking a little worse for wear. "Aren't you glad we started with the easy stuff," he asked.

Charlie let a faint laugh escape her. "If this is the easy part, do I want to know the hard stuff? Surely a gun would be easier. I mean. It's point and shoot. Although I guess it depends on the gun. Does your arm ever get tired shooting? Mine is killing me now."

"C'mon," Dean goaded. "I thought you were into all that role playing stuff. Shouldn't you already know how to handle a sword?"

"Hello," She said, straightening up. "Queen. I have a whole army to fight for me so I don't have to."

"You've just gone soft."

"I'll have you know I defended my kingdom in single combat for sixteen cycles! I was the longest reigning monarch ever."

"Then how did I beat you?"

"Because you actually know how to fight with a sword," she said, arms crossed. "You're still going to tell me about that, by the way."

Dean grinned and winked at her. "Only if you can make a touch in the next round. Otherwise you have to give me a foot massage."

Without preamble, Charlie leapt forward, throwing new vigor into her sparing. They traded blows back and forth for a minute before Charlie surprised them both by slipping under Dean's guard. She clipped his side with the tip of her wooden sword. She stared dumbly for a second before she broke into a grin, her eyes lighting up. In the brief pause, Dean disarmed her and jabbed at her heart.

"Dead."

"Crap," Charlie said, flopping to the floor. "I'm done. You've mortally wounded me and now I'm going to die. Right here. On the floor. Death and dishonor on your house." Her head rolled sideways as she pretend to die.

Dean sat down next to her. "That wasn't bad," he said. "Just don't break your focus when you're fighting, or you really will be dead."

Charlie snapped her head up. "Way to ruin my lighthearted death throws."

"I'm serious. I just want you to be safe. Me and Sam can't always be around when bad things happen."

Charlie propped herself up on her elbows and frowned at him. "I can look after myself. While I appreciate the slightly overprotective thing you've got going here, I am pretty good at getting lost before it ever comes to fighting."

"But what happens if you're backed into a corner? What if someone catches you? What if something gets past you, or heaven forbid you make a mistake? You've got to know how to protect yourself."

Charlie frowned at him. "Hey," she said, sitting up and scooting over to him. "I'm not planning on going anywhere. If you want to beat me to death with a stick, I'll let you. For now. As long as I get to play in your secret bunker library afterwards."

Dean cracked a smile. "Sure, kiddo. You and Sam can have all the nerdgasms you want."

Charlie perked up. "And the dungeon?"

Dean shook his head. "Rule number five: no locking hot chicks up in the dungeon. Sorry."

"Fine," Charlie said with a pout. "But you still owe me my answer."

Dean stretched out his legs in front of him, staring down towards his toes. "Not much to tell really. Our dad raised us in the life. He taught us all the combat skills he knew. He had been a marine before everything. He picked up some weird shit while he was at it. Special combat training. Fencing. At some point in his career, he picked up German long sword."

"How old were you when you learned that?" Charlie couldn't even fathom the discipline needed to learn something like that now, much less as a child.

He was quiet for a minute. He didn't look at her, but Charlie could tell he was thinking. Finally, he said, "I was fourteen, so Sam would have been ten or so. I think it was Sam's favorite training. He'd been obsessed with the Camelot stories for months by then. He like to pretend he was Lancelot."

"Not Arthur?"

"Nah. There was a story about Lancelot slaying a dragon in that book of his. He'd go on for hours about how he was Sir Sammy the Dragon Killer. There's a picture somewhere of him with his sword and shield. The helmet was tin foil if I recall."

Charlie giggled. "I'll have to remember that one."

Dean snickered, but grew solemn again quickly. "Sam and I were raised to survive as hunters. That's what worries me about people like you getting tangled up in this life. You weren't. We've had years of training and practice and we still barely make it out alive sometimes."

Charlie paused, caught off guard. She knew he worried, but this was ridiculous. Finally she grinned. "Well, I'll just have to make sure I stick close to the two of you and I'll be fine."

Dean snorted. "Sure."

Charlie sighed, before she kicked him gently in the leg. "Come on, you're entirely too morbid for my mood today. That means I have to cheer you up. Let's go paper Sam's room with pictures of dragons. Oooh, and make him a name plate that says Sir Sammy."

Charlie jumped up and held out a hand. "I bet there's even some tin foil in the kitchen!"

Dean took her hand, chuckling as he let her pull him up.

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I'm Wanted

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Dean sat in the plastic waiting room chair. His foot bounced frantically against the speckled linoleum, making an odd squeaking noise. The nurse at the desk was watching him. He'd already been told off for scaring the other families in the area with his pacing, so he was sitting in a too small chair trying not to crawl out of his skin with the pent up urge to keep moving. Sam was hurt and he was just sitting there, useless, as the doctors whisked in and out of the double doors just across the room from him.

He knew vaguely when Marty sat down next to him. He was trying really hard not to take notice of the man. If he did, he might strangle him and that would get him kicked out for sure. So he kept staring at the oddly patterned tiles under his shoes and ignored the man shuffling in the seat next to him.

He'd been sitting for hours with no news. He tried harassing the nurses, but they didn't know anything more than he did. Sam was in surgery. The doctors were doing what they could. Sam was still alive.

Luckily for him, the current nurse seemed to like him well enough, even if he had yelled at her. She'd brought him a donut somewhere around hour four, and mildly suggested he duck out to get cleaned up. He had glanced down at himself and realized he was still soaked in Sam's blood. Maybe that was what was really scaring the other families. Dean didn't care. He wasn't leaving until he had word about Sam. The nurse had given him a critical glance and left, only to return with a light green scrub shirt that she thrust at him.

"At least change so you don't smell so bad the doctor faints when he meets you."

Under any other circumstances, Dean would have grinned at her, maybe thrown a quip or two around. Instead, he stripped his grey t-shirt off then and there and swapped it for the scrub top. The nurse whisked the t-shirt away. Dean didn't think to ask what would happen to it.

That had been three hours ago.

Dean was just about to get up and prowl to the vending machine again in an effort to contain his growing nerves when the double doors opened outward and a doctor made a beeline towards him. Dean stood.

The doctor looked nervous, but not overly stressed. Dean watched him guardedly as he glanced at the pager on his hip then nodded at Dean. "You're Sam Dearborn's family?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I'm his brother."

The doctor held out his hand. "I'm Jim Sutherland. I was the lead surgeon on Sam's operation."

"Is he okay? Is the surgery over?"

Sutherland nodded. "Sam's stable and being moved to recovery. His injuries were severe. We had to do a lot of work to stabilize his internal organs, but it looks like your brother is a fighter. He did well during the operation and his stats have been rising steadily in the last twenty minutes."

Dean sagged with relief. Sam was okay. Sam was going to be okay.

"But," the doctor said. Dean felt all his tension mounting again. "I've got to warn you; he's still in dangerous condition. We're monitoring for internal bleeding and his insides took one hell of a beating. He lost a lot of blood, and I can't begin to tell you how long a recovery may take. His leg is broken in three places and is going to take some time to fully heal. We reset the bone, but that's a complicated injury. He's not going to be walking for at least six weeks. We also won't know what sort of damage the blow to his head did to his brain until he wakes. Scans indicate swelling in line with a severe concussion."

"What are you saying? Is he…?"

The doctor frowned. "With head injuries, it's hard to tell. His scans looked promising. There's always a chance that irreparable damage was done. There's also a chance that he'll sleep it off. Realistically? Be prepared for him to be confused, especially at first. He may forget things for a while. He might not even remember why he's here. A neuro specialist is consulting with us, but didn't seem too concerned."

Dean took a deep breath, suddenly aware that he hadn't been breathing. Okay. Sam was doing as well as could be expected. They'd dealt with broken bones and concussions before. They could do it again.

"When can I see him?"

"We're monitoring him now. If he passes the hour mark without any further complications, the nurses will start prepping him to be moved to a patient room." The doctor glanced at his watch. "You've got about half an hour before they'll have him settled. I'll make sure someone knows to come get you once he's in a room."

Dean nodded. A half hour he could manage. The end was in sight. The doctor made his goodbyes and left back down the hallway. As Dean sank back down in his seat, Marty said, "Thank God he's going to be all right. I was so afraid –"

Dean was on his feet in a second, hauling Marty up by the front of his shirt. He pushed him up against the wall, an arm to his throat, pinning him there.

"Don't you dare," Dean hissed. "You don't get to be relieved. This is your fault you sack of shit. Your crappy intel, your botched job. We came to help because you were friends with Dad, but right now you're lucky you're not dead. You want to talk to God? Start praying that Sam pulls through without any complications. Because I swear if something goes wrong, I'm going to take it out of your hide."

Dean felt someone tugging at his arms and he let himself be pulled off of Marty, who was staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "I didn't mean for Sam to get hurt. I thought I knew what we were walking into."

Dean had to swallow down the anger that threatened to take over again. He yanked his arm from the restraining grip of the security guard. "Get lost Marty. If Sam wants to see you, we'll call. Until then, stay out of my sight. Got it?"

Marty nodded and scurried out of the waiting area. The security guard was still watching Dean carefully. "Why don't you take a walk, son? Go clear your head."

Dean frowned. "I can't. My brother's gonna want me as soon as they get him settled. I have to stay close."

"That's not a suggestion. Go on now. Ten minutes. I'll have the nurse page you if something happens before you get back."

Dean scowled at the floor, but stalked towards the opposite door, as far away from Marty as he could get. He wandered aimlessly for the required ten minutes before he found himself right back where he started. It was another few minutes before a nurse came and collected him.

She was kind looking, short and a little dumpy. She reminded him of the grandmother in the gingerbread man storybook he and Sammy had read as kids. Not that she was old. If Dean had to guess she was maybe a few years his senior, but she gave off that warm cookies and milk vibe.

She paused just outside of door 302 and smile at him. "This is Sam's room. He's going to be out for at least a few more hours. He might look a little rough, but he's doing just fine. My name's Sandy. Holler if you boys need anything."

Dean nodded at her. He waited till she had bustled down the hall to open the door and go in. He paused at the doorway. Sam did look rough. He was pale and stiller than Dean had seen him in a long time. He looked frail in way that Dean found unsettling, like he might break if anything touched him.

Dean collected himself and grabbed a chair to move over close to the bed. As he sat, he smiled. "Geeze, Sammy. I know you like attention kiddo, but this was a bit dramatic. But I guess you do get your pick of hot nurses. I'll even leave a few for you."

It was the next morning before Sam finally woke up properly. He moaned and blinked awake. Dean watched him over the top of the magazine he was reading. Sam had drifted in and out a couple of times, but this time he seemed to be more alert. He was glancing around the room and Dean could tell he was growing tense. Dean set his magazine aside and leaned forward.

"Hey buddy. You waking up for me?"

Sam groaned a little, but made eye contact. "De?"

"I'm here."

"I don'….What happened?"

Dean reached out and squeezed Sam's hand. "You don't remember?"

Sam made a little noise in the back of his throat. "We were hunting?"

"That's right. Poltergeist. Got the drop on us and decided to use you as a punching bag. Threw you pretty hard."

Sam frowned. "Stairs?"

Dean snorted, secretly relieved that Sam seemed to be remembering the hunt. Maybe his head wasn't too scrambled. "Yup," Dean said. "You went through a wall, down a flight of stairs, and out a window. Scariest fucking thing I've ever seen." He didn't need to mention the impalement part. That was still too fresh to even think about.

Sam's eyes closed. "Always did have great t-t-timing."

Dean brushed the hair away from Sam's forehead. The motion seemed to stir Sam back into awareness. He glanced around the hospital room again. He frowned up at Dean. "De? I…What happened?"

Dean frowned. "You just drifted off. It's okay. Get some rest."

"But…we're in a hospital?"

"Yeah. Cause of the hunt, remember."

"With Marty?"

Dean tensed at the other hunter's name, but nodded. "Yeah. With him. And the poltergeist."

"Oh. I got hurt?"

"Sam, I just told you that. You took a beating."

"I don't..." Sam seemed to struggle, trying to remember, but started to slip back asleep. Just when Dean thought he had drifted off, he came to again, frown of confusion still on his face.

"De?"

"Yeah, buddy. Still here."

"I don….What happened?"

Dean froze. "We just had this conversation, Sam. Twice."

"No," Sam said with a frown. "No we didn't. Don't be an ass De."

Dean sighed. "Look, you gotta get some more sleep. Why don't you try to rest? I'm going to check in with your doctor."

Sam let his eyes drift shut. "'Kay, De."

When the doctor arrived, Dean had suffered through the same conversation three more times. The doc nodded when he explained. With a small smile, he said, "It's fine. Sam's brain is still scrambled from the concussion. It should sort itself out in a couple of hours. After that, just try to keep him calm and as still as possible."

"He won't remember any of this?"

The doctor shook his head. "Most likely not. When his mind sorts itself out, he'll start piecing things together again. Until then, just be patient."

Sam really was fine. Dean grinned. If Sam wasn't going to remember, then Dean could tell him anything. The next couple of hours were going to be fun. Sometimes being a big brother was awesome.