The first chapter was a little funny oneshot I did about a year ago.
But I have a few vague oneshot ideas, and I thought to myself, why not smush them together into a little timeline for the Winchester characters?
"I don't care what you were arguing about Dean, I do not expect you to treat your brother like that." John Winchester lectured, albeit his tired voice held a careless tone. The upcoming hunt tonight was more on his mind than his squabbling sons. He looked up as they passed a road sign. Not long until the next town. He hoped the motels there would be cheaper than the last.
"What's the big deal? It's not like it hurt him." Dean argued, leaning back against the car seat, his tone also casual.
Sam scoffed loudly from the back seat, sitting up straight with his arms tightly folded, the least relaxed about the situation. He caught his own reflection in the rearview mirror, the bottom half of his aching face had faded to a pink colour now.
Dean frowned at Sam's disagreement. "Well I didn't know his skin would react to the tape like that." He explained, excusing himself. He leant over and fiddled with the radio station. John slapped his hand away.
"My car. My music." He said shortly.
"Aw come on Dad. Besides, didn't you promise me the Impala one day?"
"Yeah, one day."
"But when?"
"When I think you're responsible enough."
"I am responsible." Dean insisted grumpily. He nodded his head to the backseat. "I look after him don't I?"
"When you learn that taping up Sammy isn't 'looking after him' I'll think about it." John said, ending the conversation.
"Could you turn that music down? I've got a headache." Sam complained from the back.
Dean rolled his eyes. Even when their dad was defending him he found something to moan about. "Bitch, bitch, bitch." He muttered, imitating Sam.
"What did you say?" Sam said loudly.
"I said you're a whiny little bitch." Dean replied, his voice matching Sam's volume.
John cringed in his seat. It wasn't often Sam and Dean fought. Sure they squabbled and had disagreements, but when they were both up for it, their arguments could be just as explosive as the ones he had with Sam.
"What do you expect? I was tied up for almost two hours!" Sam said angrily.
"Oh you think that's so tough you haven't seen the hunts me and Dad have been through." Dean spat back.
"That's not my problem!"
"Yes it is Sam! Why do you think I put myself through this?" Dean shouted, his voice bouncing off the enclosed space of the Impala. "I do it to protect you, to protect people like you. People like Mom!"
"That's enough!" John barked. His voice did not reach the same volume as Sam and Dean's but his feelings were clear. "Cut it out you two, if you can't get along just keep quiet."
Dean shook his head and tried to expel the rest of his rage into a deep sigh. In the back of the car Sam's nails cut into his arms as he stared grimly out the window.
The rest of the journey was made in silence.
"You've got Caleb's number right?"
"Right!" Sam snapped. That was the fifth time his dad had checked with him. He kept his back to him, sitting at the table reading through one of Dean's old high school text books. History. Long ago, something really dull happened in England with an old guy who had the hugest wart on his face. At least that was how Dean described it, but Sam seemingly couldn't get enough of it. John shook his head at how different his sons were despite their upbringing being so similar.
"Don't use that tone with me." John said, pointing a finger at his youngest. Why did he do it? Didn't he realize that he just wanted to keep him safe?
"Yeah, yeah."
"Sam." John warned.
"Yes sir."
"Okay, we'll be back later. Don't wait up."
"Er, wait a second." Sam's tone was urgent.
"What?"
"Eh, nothing." His voice faltered.
"Come on tell me." John insisted.
"It's just, er, are we going to be in this town long enough for me to find a school?"
John cleared his throat; secretly his chest ached a little at the innocent question. "I'm not sure Sam. We'll see."
He clapped him on the shoulder before heading out the motel with Dean. Said Winchester had been leaning against the door frame in silence. He followed his father out of the room and slammed the door shut, not bothering to say goodbye to Sam.
Sam's eyes snapped open as he felt the draft of the hallway come in from the door being opened quickly. He sat up quickly, his heart thudding. Deep breathing filled the room, and Sam couldn't make out the strange shape by the door.
"Dad?" He said uneasily, his voice hoarse from sleepy.
"It's okay Sammy." His father grunted. The light switch was flicked on.
Sam squinted and rubbed his eyes.
Only two words escaped Sam's lips before he froze completely. "Oh god."
Blood was trickling down the side of John's face. He had his eldest son hanging unsteadily over his shoulder. Dean's shirt was soaked with blood and was dripping from his back. Sam couldn't see his face, but he knew by how still he was that he was unconscious.
His breath was caught in his throat; he stared at his bleeding brother, horrified.
John felt Sam's fear, it silently crept across the room and tensed his already strained muscles. He caught his eye and said carefully, "Sammy, I want you to get out the first aid kit in the bottom draw, can you do that?"
Sam nodded slowly, his eyes still wide open with shock. He didn't move.
"Sammy, come on."
"R-right."
Jumping out of bed, Sam followed his father's orders.
A little over an hour later, Dean lay on the small motel bed over the moth eaten cover asleep. He had a fever, sweat covered his face and bandages adorned his torso. Sam couldn't take his eyes off him. They had been unfortunate, there had been a second ghost –twice as aggressive- in that old warehouse, that meant there was another body to be salt and burned, another mystery to solve. And they had been lucky, the cuts weren't too deep, and the scars would fade. Dean would sleep off the pain killers and he would wake up. Everything was alright.
But if this was the case, Sam asked himself, then why couldn't he stop shaking? Was it the sight of blood? No, he had seen his father come back from hunts battered before. Sam just wasn't used to seeing the blood on Dean. Not him, not his big brother. When John and Dean went on serious hunts Sam was usually left at Pastor Jim's or Calebs. Or anywhere. Just away from his family. It upset him at the time, but he had never considered how dangerous and scary it must have bee for Dean. Sam took note of John's calmness and knowledge of the wounds, did this sort of thing happen a lot?
All anger towards Dean was forgotten. Sam would have much preferred them to be arguing and pissing each other off than this.
Dean shifted, frowning slightly. A ghost of a moan escaped his lips.
"Dean?"
"Let him sleep, Sam."
His father appeared to be filling his gun with rock salt.
"Dad?"
"I've got to go finish this. It's worse than I thought." John replied to the unspoken question.
"You're going to leave us here alone?" Sam stuttered, stumbling off the small armchair he had pulled from the corner to Dean's bed.
John sighed regretfully. "Sammy I have to. If I don't more people are going to get hurt. You don't want that to happen do you?"
All the tension Sam had been building up from the bottom of his stomach from the past hour expelled out of his mouth. "How you can play that card after Dean got hurt? What about Dean? What the hell happened?"
John stood in the doorway with his back to his sons. A few seconds passed and he said quietly, "He didn't follow my orders."
The door shut with a quiet snap, and Sam stood staring at it. How long for he didn't know, but he finally came to a conclusion.
He could deal with his father yelling, and his brother tying him up with tape that hurt his skin. He didn't have to follow their orders.
But when the time came for him to be by their side in all the violence and fear and mystery of the toughest hunt they'd face, Sam would be there. And he would follow every order that came from his father's lips.
So you like? Next chapter they will probably be a little older. Thanks for reading!
