Fastest update ever! Sorry if I seem a little rushed... Ready! Set! GO!


Year Eight: He Wouldn't Hear a Thing

"He can handle himself, Dean!"

"No! He can't! He needs me, just like he always has!" Dean stabbed an accusatory finger at John. "You're never there for him and I am! Who do you think knows better?"

John shook his head, tight lipped. "How dare you... I was out there risking my
life! Everyday! You think I didn't want to be there? Didn't want to watch my sons grow up? Every damn day, Dean!" He took in a deep breath, crossing his arms and uncrossing them as he contemplated his next words. "Ever damned day. But I can't! You know I just can't until I find Mary's killer!"

He stopped and the silence that filled the room was deafening as Dean took in what his father had said. "So don't you tell me I'm not doing anything for you two when I spend day in and day out trying to find the- the thing that killed your mother!"

Dean's breathing was ragged, his fists still balled as he refused to accept his father's reasoning. "Why don't you stop sobbing over your dead family and actually acknowledge what's left of the one you still have?" He spat, turning on his heels and slamming the door to the room he shared with Sam.

Dean's entire demeanor changed the minute his eyes locked on Sam. "Hey, Sammy, it's okay, buddy." He sat cross-legged next to Sam and pulled the boy closer. Sam made eye contact, his eyes still puffy and red.

"You heard that, didn't you?" Dean stated more than asked. Sam nodded and sniffed.

"It's my fault, isn't it? This whole mess?" He squeaked.

"Oh, no!" Dean answered quickly, squeezing his shoulder. "Not in a million years!"

"It is, too! If I was popular like you this never would've happened." He looked ashamedly back at his toes.

Dean didn't say anything and neither did Sam, who sat patiently as Dean's adrenaline decreased and his breathing steadied. "Let me see it again," He ordered softly.

Sam complied, pulling up the back of his shirt to reveal a large black and blue bruise. "Is it bad?" He whispered.

Dean looked the baseball sized injury slowly, contemplating the raised bump it had formed. "No." He lied. "But you should put some ice on it to be on the safe side."

"Okay," Sam agreed instantly. He sniffed. "I just wish I could've done something..."

Dean stared at the water stain in the ceiling as he thought. It was the first time Sam had really been bullied, but it was also Dean's first fight with John.

"There was nothing you could do to change the way they thought of you because you did absolutely nothing to deserve it in the first place, got it?"

Sam nodded again. "Why were you guys fighting?" It seemed to Dean that he'd been working up the courage to ask.

"He didn't agree with, uh, well, with how I handled the situation." Dean fingered his own pink knuckles, probably nowhere near the severity of the damage he'd done to Tommy Spencer- the bully- and his friends.

Sam sniffled again and slowly rested his head on Dean'd shoulder. The older boy sighed as he leaned his head up against the wall. Tommy Spencer would never touch a hair on Sam's head again.

"You know what the worst thing he called me was?" Sam mumbled drowsily.

"What?" Dean answered softly, imagining the worst in his head, his imagination flying and his anger rising.

"He called me Sammy." Sam mumbled. At first Dean was hurt. He didn't like being called Sammy? He was contemplating speaking up about it, but Sam made the first move. "Only you're allowed to call me that, right, Dean?"

"Right, Sammy." Dean answered softly, checking the time. It was getting late and dark, but Sam had quickly fallen asleep on his arm and Dean dare not move. His stomach growled and his shoulder was tingling and most likely sore from lack of movement, but if that was where Sam's head was comfortable, he wouldn't do a thing. And if Sam tried to fit in with the populars, it wouldn't change a thing.

But if John tried to yell at him for punching Tommy Spencer, he wouldn't hear a thing.


All for now, but I appreciate all the support!