Broken Soldiers

The first year with Dean started out with long, tense silences. The boy spent most of his time huddled in a corner, like a trapped animal waiting for the killing blow. He went where John took him, did what John told him and ate whatever John put in front of him. After about a month, John began to worry that he'd never get an honest to God opinion out of the boy. It was almost like living with a ghost.

Dean took up as little room as possible, looked like he was going to have some sort of anxiety attack if he spilled something or made a mistake, and only spoke when he had to. It all came to a head one day when John, tired, injured and drugged after a job gone very bad, snapped at Dean for spilling pop on his notes. Dean jumped and backed away like he'd been burned.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… please don't send me away."

John froze and stared at the boy. Damn, he felt seven different kinds of stupid for not seeing the child's fear for what it was. He held out his good arm. "Come here, boy." Dean didn't move. "I won't hurtcha. Come on." Once the boy was safely tucked against his side, he held him close. "I'm not ever gonna give you away. You're stuck with me, you hear that?"

"Why?"

"Why? Cause you're my kid."

"But my first Dad said he only kept me around for one thing and if I was too much trouble that wouldn't even be a good enough reason. And you don't…" The boy's voice trailed off as he blushed bright red.

John felt anger bloom in his chest at the thought of the other man. If he could, he'd resurrect him just so he could kill him. "Your first Dad was an ignorant jackass. If he said the sky was blue, I'd get a second opinion. I keep you around because you're my kid. That's all you need to be. Just Dean."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So if I get mad, or irritable sometimes, or just occasionally act like a complete jerk, that doesn't mean that I don't want you around. Just means that I'm not perfect. But I promise I'll always get over it. Just having you around makes me happy."

"But why? I mean, I don't do anything."

"I happen to like you. I like watching you inhale all my food. I like it when you're all excited about something or when you just let yourself be happy. I like seeing you after a long hunt. I like watching TV with you and teaching you new things."

"That's it?" The boy looked up at him incredulously.

"Yeah. That's it." John ruffled the kid's hair affectionately. "Now help your crippled jerk of an old man clean this up."

It was nearly six years since John first set eyes on Dean and they were in a dinner. Sam had gone to the bathroom, insisting that he wasn't a baby anymore and didn't need his brother following him everywhere. John allowed it because the kid knew at least a dozen ways to disable a grown man. Anybody who tried to mess with him was going to get a nasty surprise.

"I like girls," Dean blurted. He glanced up at John quickly before fixing his eyes back on the table. John had figured that much out on his own with the way the boy reacted around women.

He took a sip of his coffee. "There a reason that's a problem, son?"

"It's just I never… I've only ever…" his voice trailed off and he sighed. He turned his own coffee cup around on the table, a nervous gesture he'd had since he started drinking coffee a few years ago, a habit John believed boy had only picked up because he wanted to be like him.

"Everybody's gotta have a first."

"What if… what if they don't want me?"

John snorted. He'd seen the way women reacted around his son too. It had never occurred to him that the boy hadn't noticed. "Trust me son, that won't be a problem."

"Really?" Dean looked up at him, his expression hopeful, but there was fear there too like what he wanted might be too much to hope for.

"Really."

He nodded and John was a little surprised at how easily the boy took his word for it, despite his insecurities. "How do I… you know…" he made a vague gesture with his hand.

"I can explain the mechanics… the anatomy and tab a/slot b to you, but the rest is trial and error. Every woman's different. You have plenty of time to figure it out. Just relax son. You'll be fine."

It was six months later, when Dean was on his third girl in as many weeks, that John began to suspect that maybe he'd created a monster. His boy was definitely shaping up to be the 'one in every port' type.

Dean loved Sam, wasn't sure if he could have loved him more if they'd been brothers their entire lives, but damn if he didn't want to strangle the kid sometimes. He was moody and whiny and clingy. Not that Dean couldn't understand the need to hold on to somebody. The last person that loved him the way John did, protected him the way John did, had been his mom. She'd been taken from him and he knew all too well what could happen when the person who loved you most suddenly disappeared from your life. Sometimes Dean would be overcome with fear that John would be taken from him too and he'd cling in his own way without making it obvious that's what he was doing. He cooked for John, took care of all the weapons, patched John up and, when there was nothing else to do, he hovered. John would pretend not to notice for a while, then he'd either snap and ask Dean if he didn't have something better to do or, more often, hold out an arm till the boy curled up under it silent and content. But only when Sam was asleep and couldn't see what a little emo bitch his big brother was being.

But Sammy wanted everybody to love him. Everywhere they went, the kid that used to hang on to Dean like a limpet and barely said two words to anyone else except John now made attachments as quickly as he could. It was almost heartbreaking to watch. Dean knew their Dad saw it, understood whatever his reasons were for moving constantly had to be good. John was too good a man, too good a father to do it for no reason. Whatever the reason was, Dean knew it kept the older man up at night sometimes. Sammy didn't know. For such a smart kid, he could be incredibly dense sometimes.

But Sam and Dean were as different as night and day. Dean's childhood had taught him not to trust lightly. Masters had passed him around for years and while not everyone took the son of a bitch up on the offer of Dean's mouth, no one had done anything to actually help him either. Until John. Dean suspected that if that werewolf had really gotten Masters before his Dad put it down, it was with John's help. Either that or John had just put Masters down himself.

Sammy on the other hand was saved by the first stranger that happened across him. The isolation that their lifestyle imposed on him scared him because the older he got, the more he understood why his biological rat-bastard of a father had kept him away from people. Somehow that fear had gotten transferred to John.

"Why the fuck do we have to move all the time?"

"Language, retard."

"Me? You curse worse than Dad!"

"I'm not a kid. The day you stop bein' a little kid, you can curse all you want."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I have friends here."

Dean sighed and shook his head. Sammy always had friends. The boy could make friends during a five minute bathroom break at a truck stop. "Do you want us to leave you here, geek boy?" Dean didn't mean it, wished he could take it back the second the words were out of his mouth. It was just the exasperation talking. He was just tired of having the same argument every two to twenty six weeks.

Sammy's eyes filled with tears so quickly it was alarming and Dean found himself with his arms full of shaking, clinging, broken thirteen year old boy. Sometimes Dean forgot that Sammy was just as broken as he was. Probably always would be. "Please don't leave me, Dean." His voice was small, muffled from where he had his face pressed against the older brother's chest.

Dean wrapped his arms tightly around the kid. "Sam, Sammy, relax dude! Not gonna leave you, not ever! Dad's not gonna either. But the thing is, we gotta go. So if you want to stay with us, you gotta go too."

Sam took a few deep, shuddering breaths as he slowly pulled himself back together. Dean waited him out patiently. When he was sure the kid wasn't going to break out into tears again he pushed him gently away. "Move it soldier," he punched Sam's arm playfully. "Dad'll be here any minute and I promised him we'd be ready."

"Dean?" Sam spoke just loudly enough for his voice to be heard over the comforting rumble of the Impala's engine. He almost hated to admit it, but he missed this car. It had been home to him for most of his life. He could hardly believe that their father had given it to Dean.

"Yeah?"

"You mentioned your biological Dad. What happened to your Mom? Was she around?"

Dean snorted but didn't answer. He was silent for so long that Sam thought maybe the snort was all the answer he was going to get. "I was four. This werewolf had a taste for kids. Tried to make me its midnight snack. Mom died fighting it off. Put herself right in front of me with nothing but her bare hands to fight with. Neighbor was a hunter. He scared it off, injured it but didn't kill it. Worthless son of a bitch who called himself my father just huddled in a corner pissing himself the entire time."

Sam gawked at his brother. He'd watched his mother be killed by a werewolf at four. "Dude! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Dean made a noncommittal move with his shoulders that was somewhere between a shrug and a shudder. "Not exactly my favorite memory, Sammy."

"It's just… you know all about me, but until a few hours ago I had no idea you didn't spend your entire life with Dad."

"You've always known everything you need to know about me. I'm your big brother."

Sam wanted to say that wasn't what he meant, but he knew Dean wouldn't understand his desire to know everything, would resist Sam's attempts to figure out what made him tick. Because Sam did know Dean. He had just never really understood him.