Title: Now I Know My ABC's

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.

Author's Note: What? Sometimes you just gotta play with the zombies. They're fun, dammit. :P And you know how Dean loves to gank them. Heh.

…. I… may have gotten a bit carried away at the end of this one. Lol Sometimes, the Winchesters start something and don't let me walk away without finishing it, however potentially schmoopy it may be. XD

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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U is for Undead -

The road seemed to stretch on forever as the Impala flew down the lonely highway at night. Sam watched the faded yellow line in the headlights as they drove and tried not to feel as miserable as he was; he tried not to be a 'baby' about it. He sighed and flicked a glance to his left and his big brother in the driver's seat. Dean was in his element, hands wrapped comfortably around the Impala's wheel and a small smile on his face as he pressed a little harder into the gas and she jumped forward. Sam's eyes went behind his brother's shoulder as a black pickup truck suddenly roared up alongside them. He didn't bother leaning down to see out Dean's window and waited. A moment later, the sound of a horn honking echoed into the car.

"Think Dad's telling you to slow the hell down, Dean," Sam said tiredly. He turned away to look out the passenger window instead.

Dean scowled and rolled his eyes but lightened his foot on the gas. He let their dad shoot ahead of them and snorted. "Thinks he's so bad ass in that hunk of scrap." He rubbed a hand lovingly along the steering wheel and smiled. "Ain't got nothin' on my baby."

Sam gave a soft laugh and shook his head. "He's gonna thump you harder in training if you keep speeding like that."

"He speeds." Dean aimed a finger out the windshield.

"He's dad."

Dean scoffed and watched their father's taillights pull away from them. "No fair." He sighed and resisted the urge to floor it, catch their dad, and shoot ahead of him just because he could. He glanced over at Sam instead. "What's got your britches in a damn knot? You look like someone pissed in your Wheaties."

Sam stiffened and then shook his head. "Nothing. Just tired." It wasn't nothing. His dad and brother had only just returned safely from a werewolf hunt not eight hours earlier, and Sam was relieved enough to have them back that he didn't bother reminding them that it was May 4th… or that his birthday had gone forgotten two days past while they were gone. He had spent the day alone and scared that he might never see his brother or father again, knowing that any hunt, no matter how simple it seemed, could turn deadly in a matter of seconds if something went wrong. But now he had his family back alive and well. He would just call that his birthday present and move on.

"Huh." Dean watched his little brother curl into the window and close his eyes and had the distinct impression he was missing something.

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John Winchester tossed the cleaning rag for his gun up onto the table and raised a brow at his eldest while Dean grinned at him. "Yes, Dean. Actual zombies."

"Dude." Dean clapped his hands together and damn near bounced on his toes. "Zombies." He turned to his brother and slapped the back of his shoulder.

"Knock it off!" Sam protested as Dean nearly made him drop the machete he was sharpening and sharpen his own fingers instead. It annoyed him that dad wasn't giving them any downtime, dragging them from one hunt to the next. To make it worse, his father saw no point in enrolling him in a new school with only a month of classes left in the year; Not to mention getting pulled out of his last school with only a month of classes left to go. The only consolation was that this time, he wouldn't be left behind. He was always torn; hating the job and wanting a normal life, but being consumed with worry and fear when his dad and brother were off on a hunt without him and having to wonder if they would even return alive.

"Ground rules." John set his gun down and waited for Dean to settle and stop acting like the teenager he was. "You two stay together. They're zombies, which means no higher brain functions. But they can still overpower you or outnumber you."

"That's why they eat brains. They're stupid." Dean leaned over his brother and grabbed his head. "Gonna have a fudging feast on your brains, geek."

"Dean," John bit off his son's name and pointed to the other chair at the table until he sat with a satisfied smirk and left his little brother alone.

Sam kicked his brother under the table and glared at him. He set the whetstone and his machete on the table and sighed. "You know, they were people once. The zombies." He shrugged at his father's quizzical look. "They had families and people who loved them." Sam glanced over at his brother. "I just don't think we should be so… excited about killing them."

"They're not people anymore, Sammy." John sighed for his youngest's soft heart. "They're walking corpses and they're killing people. We do the job."

"I know." Sam shook his head and huddled back in his chair.

John wished he could find a way to make Sam enjoy the hunt the way Dean did, but his boys were so different on that point that he didn't know where to begin. He knew Sam would do what needed to be done, but he felt bad that his youngest was constantly so unhappy about their lives. He shook his head. There was no way he was resolving that issue anytime soon, and in the meantime they had a case to take care of before more people got killed. "Get the heads. They don't stop unless you take off their heads. If you don't, they'll just crawl after you and keep trying to kill you. So, no screwin' around." He fixed Dean with a look at that one.

Dean shrugged and gave his dad his best innocent look. "What?"

"Uh huh." John shook his head again. "While you boys are keeping the zombies off me, I'm gonna deal with the Bokor that raised 'em." He raised a hand when Sam opened his mouth. "I'm gonna try not to kill him, Sammy. But the guy's probably not gonna go quietly, and I'm not risking my life or yours to take him in if he pushes me." He waited for Sam to voice yet another argument as he seemed to do more and more often lately, but he only nodded, and John gave a surprised, grateful nod that this once Sam wasn't going to pick an argument.

"Do we know how many zombies?" Dean asked and grabbed the whetstone Sam had been using and set to work on his own machete.

John shook his head. "I'm not sure. The county coroner reports six missing bodies, so hopefully no more than that."

"Have you checked police reports for all the cemeteries in the county?" Sam leaned forward. "There could be reports of grave desecrations that didn't include a report of a missing body. If the graves were filled in, they wouldn't think to look."

"He's one man, Sammy." John ran a hand over his face and stood. "The fact that he dug up six graves is surprising. You know how much work that is. We'll be fine." He slid his gun into the holster at the small of his back. "You boys finish up with those. Ten minutes and we're moving."

"Got it, Dad." Dean went to work on his blade in earnest. He looked over at the dour expression on Sam's face and frowned. "Hey. Why the long face? You get to come with this time. That's good, right?"

"Yeah." Sam looked up and managed a small smile for his brother. "It's great." He stood and quickly threaded the sheathe for the machete onto his belt and slid the blade home. "Let's get moving before Dad comes looking for us."

Dean's frown deepened, not buying the little smile. "Dude, you know you can tell me if something's buggin' you, right?"

Sam gave a sad snort. "Yeah, Dean. I remember the important things."

Dean scowled at the odd way Sam had said that as his little brother left the room. "Huh." Once again, Dean felt that he was missing something important but couldn't imagine what it was. He scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair. He was still tired from the werewolf hunt, still in need of more sleep, and he was sure their dad was too. That hairy bastard had led them on a hell of a chase through the backwoods and a trail of mangled bodies that had made Dean lose his lunch once. He wasn't proud of that. He shook his head at himself and finished sharpening his machete. He heard his father yelling their names and groaned. "So much for ten minutes. Sammy! Get the lead out!"

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Dean walked softly through the woods with Sam at his back. He saw their father's back, far ahead, vanish around a screen of trees. He glanced back to his brother, and Sam's gave him a tense but firm nod. He pulled his machete out of the sheathe and was ready when he heard the soft trill of their dad's whistle from ahead. "Showtime, Sammy." Dean grinned. He made sure his brother had his blade out and then started whooping loudly.

Sam jumped, even though he had been expecting the noise. He gave himself a shake to steady his nerves. "Not sure I like being the bait."

Dean chuckled and patted Sam's shoulder. "We're not bait." He gave his machete a swing as the first zombie shambled into view ahead of them. "We're the distraction. That's totally different!"

Sam couldn't help the soft chuckle at his brother's words. He moved up alongside Dean as a second, third, and then fourth zombie came out of the trees. "Shit."

"Easy. We got this. Come and get some, dead dudes!" Dean moved forward and caught the leading zombie. He turned his body and swung, sending the machete in a swift arc that separated the thing's head from its shoulders. He grimaced at the smell of rotting meat and blood and tried not to look too hard at the exposed muscle and bone exposed on each of the bodies through their tattered clothes. "Yech." He backed up a few steps and felt Sam's hand on the small of his back, letting him know he was there. "They reek."

"Well, they've been dead a while so…" Sam jerked to his right as a zombie emerged from the trees to his left. "That's five." He groaned, realizing the zombie was a head taller than his big brother and far too tall for him to reach the head. His growth spurt was taking its own damn sweet time to kick in. He bent instead and hacked into the undead thing's legs until it fell.

"Nice job, shorty!" Dean chuckled as Sam brought the zombie down to his height before beheading it.

"Shut up!" Sam yelled in a fit of annoyance. He hated being reminded how much shorter he was. "Someday, I'm gonna be taller than you, Dean."

Dean barked a loud laugh. He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled his back in against his chest as the sixth zombie stumbled abruptly into view only a few feet away. "Careful."

"I can handle myself, jerk." Sam shook his brother's hand free and waved. "You wanna take care of those before they eat us?"

Dean scowled, once again reminded that something was eating at his little brother and the kid wasn't talking about it. "You're a pain in my ass, Sammy. You know that?"

"Whatever," Sam grumbled. His eyes widened as four more zombies came into view behind them. "Dean? I think we should have checked the police reports for the cemeteries."

"Huh?" Dean beheaded another zombie, leaving only two ahead of them and looked over his shoulder to find reinforcements shuffling into the fray. "Oh, shit!"

"I told him," Sam muttered. He shook his head and jumped forward with a grunt of effort to decapitate the nearest zombie. "But does he listen? No."

"Save it for later!" Dean yelled, though he actually agreed with his little brother this time.

"You never listen to me! Either of you!" Sam kicked a leg out from under a female zombie as she reached for him with both hands, strips of flesh dangling sickeningly between her fingers. "Not even when it's important!"

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing that Sam was geared up for a nice, long rant, but this was so not the place for it. He sliced off an arm on the zombie to his left before it could latch on to him and severed the head on the one beside it to roll away into the dead leaves. "You can bitch at him later! Kill zombies now!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Sam demanded angrily.

"I think… oh, you asshole. Come'ere." Dean broke off and ducked under the reaching arms of a zombie as it staggered to him. He pushed it back with a shoulder to its chest and gagged slightly as the smell overpowered him. "I think you're pickin' a damn bad time to have an emo meltdown! Focus!"

"Emo!" Sam turned on his brother with a glare.

"You're thirteen, not three, Sam!" Dean met his brother's glare with his own. "Grow up!"

"I'm not thirteen anymore, you ass!" Sam shouted it and felt tears well in his eyes despite their situation. He pushed them back and turned to lop an arm from a zombie before it could latch on to the back of his big brother's shoulder. "Pay attention, Dean! God!"

Dean was struck dumb, staring at his little brother. "Holy crap." A wave of guilt flowed through him, lodging in a cold lump under his heart. "Oh, man. Sammy." His eyes went wide in fear as two huge zombies loomed up behind his brother. "Sammy! Look out!" He reached for him to drag him clear but was a second too late as an arm covered in rotting flesh wrapped around Sam's neck and dragged him backward. "No!" The precariousness of their situation was suddenly driven forcefully home for him as Sam's head was wrenched back on a strangled cry, and Dean took in the five walking dead still surrounding them. "DAD!" Dean bellowed it into the night and hoped that wherever their dad was, he could hear it and would know they needed help.

"Dean!" Sam gasped. He turned his machete around and stabbed it behind him into the thigh of the zombie holding him. It didn't even flinch. Sam twisted the blade, feeling and hearing bone snap. The zombie stumbled to its knees but didn't lose its grip on him. He scrabbled the fingers of his other hand into the arm holding him and nearly threw up as the rotting flesh parted beneath his fingers and sloughed off with little, wet splats. It was another futile effort, however, as the pressure on his neck did not waver. He coughed as his ability to breathe was cut off. Sam fought desperately to free his machete, but it was firmly lodged in the undead thing's leg. He craned his eyes to his left when he felt another pair of hands on him and would have screamed for his brother if he had the air. A wide open mouth filled with blackened, rotting teeth filled his vision and he struggled harder to get free, even as he felt himself growing lightheaded and weaker by the moment with the lack of oxygen. As his vision started to blur, the thought ran through his mind that, if he lost consciousness now, he very likely would not be waking up again. He felt a rush of regret that what were very possibly the last words he would ever say to his brother had been said in hurt and anger. "I'm sorry, Dean" was his last thought as he felt himself sink into the encroaching darkness

"Leave him alone!" Dean screamed it and waded into the remaining zombies. He swung the machete desperately, fighting toward Sam. He lost sight of him for just a moment, and Dean snarled, gritted his teeth, and decapitated the zombie blocking him from his brother with so much force the head flew through the air to slam into a tree trunk. "Sammy! Hold on!" He reached Sam at the same moment one of the undead bastards sank its teeth into Sam's shoulder. Sam's silence terrified Dean. He should have been screaming. "Sam!"

Dean shoved one zombie to the ground and slammed the point of his machete through the eye socket of the one with its arm wrapped around Sam's throat. The arm loosened its hold and Sam slumped forward with the other zombie still gnawing at his shoulder. Dean wrenched his blade free in a spray of dark blood and grabbed the hair of the thing feeding from Sam. "Come on!" He wrenched the head up, the jaws away from his brother, and slid his blade under its chin, giving the weapon a twist and half-severed the head as he kicked the thing away.

"Sam." Dean caught his brother against him and looked up as five remaining zombies surrounded them. He looked down at the top of Sam's head, lolling beneath his chin and clenched his jaw. "Not goin' down like this, little brother." He carefully let Sam down to lay on his side in the leaves and got to his feet. He stood over Sam defensively and swung his machete in readiness. "Come on."

Dean startled as their father erupted from a screen of trees to his left. "Dad," he breathed in relief. He stood frozen for just a second as his dad beheaded the first of the zombies and then burst into motion with him. Dean spun and cut off the arms of the zombie behind him before it could catch him, and its head joined its arms a moment later. He ducked to the next and took it down quickly. He was moving to a third when his father slapped a hand into his shoulder.

"Get Sammy. I've got this." John ordered and put all his attention on the remaining undead heading for his sons.

Dean blew out a breath and dropped beside his brother, letting his machete settle to the ground beside them. He pulled Sam up, cradling him against his chest and tipped his brother's head back to get a look at him. "Sammy?" He grimaced at the blood on Sam's shoulder and the bruises already coming up around his throat. "Come on, kiddo. Gimme a sign here."

"Is he alive?" John asked and couldn't hide the crack of fear in his voice as he took down another zombie and moved in on the last.

"He's breathin'!" Dean called and lightly tapped Sam's cheek, then rubbed his knuckles into his brother's sternum. "Sammy. Come on, please." He looked up and watched his dad dispatch the last of the undead. "He was right. We should'a checked."

John looked around the ground, doing a silent count and found thirteen bodies. He swallowed hard around the lump of guilt and fear in his throat and nodded. "Yeah." He could have easily lost both of his boys tonight if he had taken longer to deal with the bokor. As it was, he had no idea what condition his youngest was in. He might still - John pushed that thought away and looked down at himself, brushing at spots of blood he knew weren't his own.

"Hey. Hey, Sammy." Dean refocused on his brother as Sam stirred and coughed. "That's it, buddy. Wake up. I gotcha. You're safe. That's it." He caught him as Sam rocketed up on a gasp and began wheezing for air. "Take it easy. I gotcha."

"Dean." Sam wrapped his hands frantically around his brother's arm. He watched his dad kneel down beside him and then slammed his eyes closed on a moan of pain as white hot agony flowed through his shoulder. "Zom… zombies?"

"We got 'em all," John reassured his youngest. He moved Dean's hand back from Sam's shoulder and carefully peeled the boy's jacket away to try and get a look at the damage. The amount of blood was worrying. He looked up at the night sky through the trees and wished more of the moonlight would filter down. "Can't see a damn thing."

"Here." Dean fished a flashlight out of his pocket and passed it over before wrapping his arm back around his brother. "You're gonna be fine, Sammy. Promise."

Sam let some of the tension flow out of his body and slumped wearily back into his brother in a silent plea for comfort. "Sorry."

Dean frowned down at his brother and brushed Sam's ridiculously shaggy, dark hair out of his eyes. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

"Let 'em get me. Sorry." Sam panted as his father poked at his wounded shoulder and only barely stopped himself from rolling into Dean's chest to escape the pain. "Dad…"

"Sorry, tiger." John leaned back and gently settled Sam's jacket and shirts back over the wounds. "It's not too bad. Might not even need stitches but we'll need to get it clean and get a better look at it." He blew out a breath and stood. "Let's get him out of here."

"I'll take him." Dean gathered Sam into his arms, slid a hand beneath his brother's knees and wasn't surprised when Sam made little protest other than a breathless groan. "You can salt and burn the bodies. I'm gonna take him back and get him cleaned up." Dean's voice held a sharp edge that John seldom heard directed at him.

John scowled as Dean got to his feet with Sam cradled in his arms. He felt like he was being dressed-down for something other than not checking the cemeteries and he wasn't sure what. "Dean?"

"Later." Dean turned away from their father and then turned back. "Gimme the light so I can see where I'm walking?"

"Uh, right. Here." John put the light in Dean's hand under his brother's legs and softly patted the top of Sam's head. "You'll be fine, Sammy."

"Yeah, he will." Dean turned away again and started through the forest with his little brother cradled safely against his chest, Sam's head rolled beneath his jaw and breathing warm puffs of air against his throat. "Y'ok, kiddo?"

Sam gave a short nod but didn't speak. It was taking everything he had not to cry like a baby over the pain in his shoulder.

Dean made the walk back to the car as quickly as he could. Sam would sometimes cough and then moan softly and miserably against him. He somehow managed to get the passenger door open without letting go of his brother and carefully lowered Sam down, sliding him onto the seat. Dean's heart thumped hard in his chest when he tried to move away and realized the death grip his little brother had on his amulet around his neck. He knelt down beside the open door and palmed the back of Sam's head.

"Hey, tiger. You wanna let go of me?" Dean smiled as Sam looked up wearily at him. He patted Sam's fist around his amulet and snorted a soft laugh when Sam only shook his head and closed his eyes. "Alright then. Hang on." He ducked his head and eased the cord up and off. Sam pulled his hand in against his own chest with the amulet held tight in his fist.

Dean jogged around the Impala and slid behind the wheel. He stretched his right arm across the seat and rested his hand on the side of Sam's neck above the blood and wound so that he could make sure the kid kept breathing.

Sam took comfort in the weight of his brother's hand on the drive back to the motel. He was swallowing repeatedly by the time they parked in front of the room as his stomach threatened to revolt on him. He knew it was probably blood loss making him feel so weak and nauseated, but the fact that Dean brought him to the motel and not a hospital made him feel a little better. It couldn't be that bad if Dean didn't have that panicked look in his eyes. He managed a small smile when Dean pulled his door open and reached in for him. But the smile quickly vanished as Dean pulled his legs out. The motion rolled through Sam and he lurched forward, losing what little he had eaten earlier on the pavement between his feet as he heaved.

"Crap." Dean supported his little brother and grimaced at the vomit spewing out from him. "I gotcha. You're ok." He rubbed Sam's back and caught him when Sam's heaves tapered off into painful sounding coughs. "You done?" Sam gave him a short nod, and Dean gathered him up. "Alright. Try not to puke on your awesome big bro," he warned as he lifted Sam up out of the car again. The soft, if miserable, laugh Sam gave him made him feel a little better.

Dean took Sam inside, kicking the door closed behind him, and took Sam into the back and the two beds there. He set him down as carefully as he could, but Sam still hissed in pain with the motion. "Sorry, buddy. Let's get these off before you lay down."

Sam nodded. "Kay." He let Dean do most of the work, pulling his jacket down his arms and then maneuvering his arms out of his shirt sleeves. He gritted his teeth together but couldn't stop the whimper of pain as Dean pulled them over his head and jarred his shoulder. Sam turned his head to get his first look at the wound and had to swallow hard again to avoid throwing up. There were clear teeth marks in his skin where the zombie had gnawed and torn at his flesh.

"Hey. It's not that bad," Dean reassured him and smiled to prove to Sam that if he wasn't worried, Sam shouldn't be either. He tipped his brother's jaw up with a knuckle and sighed. "I'm more worried about this bruising," he said as he took in the livid marks across the front of Sam's neck. "You breathin' alright?"

Sam gave a stiff nod. He cleared his throat and winced. "Uh… yeah. Think so."

"You start havin' trouble, you tell me." Dean fixed him with a firm look. "No suckin' it up, little brother. You tell me."

"Will." Sam let Dean lay him back and prop pillows behind him, and only then, as Dean went into the bathroom for towels and water, did he realize he was still holding on to his brother's amulet like a lifeline. He blushed with embarrassment and held his hand out when Dean came back and sat beside him. "Here."

"Hold on to it." Dean bent over his brother's left shoulder and held up a clean, wet cloth. "This is gonna hurt." He set to cleaning the bite marks as quickly and gently as he could. Even so, Sam was trembling on the bed with each pass of the cloth. Dean hated being forced to perform well-meaning torture on his little brother. It hurt him nearly, as much and his hands were shaking by the time he got the wounds clean enough to make him happy. "Ok, Sammy. Almost done." He spread antibacterial ointment liberally over each open wound after butterflying the worst of them closed. Sam would end up with an interesting pattern of scars later, and that made Dean clench his teeth together angrily. He watched as Sam huffed out a last, pained breath and went still.

"Sammy?" Dean palmed his brother's face and sighed; he had passed out. "Sleep, buddy. You're good." It wasn't good, not by a long shot. He hated that his brother – his fourteen-year-old brother - had very nearly been killed, and hated it more that they had both been in so much danger because neither he nor their father had listened to Sam. The kid was scary smart and they both should have known better than to discount what he said. Worse though, was the betrayal of forgetting Sam's birthday and having left him alone for it. Dean knew that his brother had spent his birthday miserable and afraid his family would be killed and never return. That was no way for a kid to live. He blew out a long, heavy breath and knew it was never going to change. All he could do was his best to keep Sam safe. He looked up as the motel room door banged open and his father appeared.

"How is he?" John asked. He tossed his duffel to the floor inside the door and went to the bed with his sons.

Dean taped a bandage over his brother's shoulder and shrugged. "He's alright. Little banged up and his throat's killin' him. I'm a little worried about swelling." He sniffed and turned a scowl at his father. "Dad, you smell like a forest fire and burnt pot roast. Go take a shower or somethin'.

John sat on Sam's other side with a snort. He brushed his son's hair off his forehead and softly tipped Sam's jaw up enough to get a look at his throat. "Christ," he muttered, seeing the bruising in the bright light of the room. He looked down and picked up Sam's right hand. It was clenched tightly in a fist against his chest with a black cord trailing out from between his knuckles. John pried his son's fingers open and sighed. "Think this is yours." He pulled the amulet out of Sam's hand and rubbed his thumb over the indentations the horns had left in Sam's palm, then handed the talisman to Dean.

"Yeah." Dean dropped the amulet's cord over his head, letting it rest on his chest and then sighed. "Dad, we suck."

"Huh?" John looked over at him confused.

"It's May fourth." Dean's brows rose as he looked at his dad and waited for him to make the connection. He nodded when John's eyes suddenly went wide. "Yep. We suck."

"Oh, shit." John looked back down at Sam and shook his head. He rested his hand in Sam's hair and hated himself just a little. "How the hell did I forget his birthday?"

"I did too," Dean said miserably. "Worst part is, he wasn't even gonna say anything if I hadn't'a pissed him off." Dean stood. He went to run his hands through his hair and grimaced, seeing his brother's blood all over them. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. "He was just gonna let it go." He caught his father's eyes with sadness in his own. "What kinda kid does that, Dad? Thinks he's gotta just suck it up and be quiet when we forget him, like it's normal."

"Go clean up." John stood, giving a pat to Sam's chest. He took Dean's shoulder and gave him a shove toward the bathroom. "Sometimes the job gets in the way, Dean. You know that. Doesn't make it easier." He looked down at Sam and sighed. "Or right, but it is what it is. Go on. I'll be back in ten."

"Where are you goin'?" Dean asked and hoped it wasn't to the nearest bar. He would never call his father out on it, the way Sam would, John's sometimes knee-jerk reaction to stress being to climb in the nearest bottle and paddle around for a night.

"Store. Sam's gonna need some things." John didn't miss the look on his eldest's face and was a little relieved that Dean didn't say what he was clearly thinking. "Promise, Dean. Store and back. Keep an eye on his temperature. That bite wound might get infected. If it does, we'll take him to the nearest clinic and score some antibiotics."

"Right. Got it." Dean turned on the water in the bathroom as Dad left and ruthlessly cleaned Sam's blood from his hands. It killed him a little to see it there, dug in under his fingernails. It was like a condemnation of his failure to protect the kid. "Dammit." He dried his hands and went back out to find his little brother blinking blearily up at the ceiling.

"Hey, kiddo." Dean smiled and bent down over him. "You back with me?"

Sam groaned softly and put his left hand cautiously over the burning ache in his shoulder. "Ow."

"Yeah, I know it hurts." Dean started pulling the blankets out from beneath his brother. "Kick your shoes off."

Sam considered actually sitting up and taking his shoes off, but he didn't want to find out just how much that would hurt his shoulder. "Fine." He toed off his sneakers while his brother pulled the blankets out from beneath him. "Can put myself in bed."

"Oh, quit whinin'." Dean grinned and pulled the covers up to Sam's chest. He shoved an extra pillow behind his brother, lifting him carefully and then setting him back. "We'll get some food in you when Dad comes back, and then you can take somethin' for the pain and pass out for a while. Sound good?"

"I'm alright, Dean." Sam looked up at his brother and slapped away the hand that came toward his hair, no doubt intending to ruffle it into a mess yet again. "Knock it off. M'not a kid."

Dean chuckled and sat down beside him. "Nope. You're fourteen." He gave a stiff shrug. "Sorry, Sammy. I should'a remembered."

"It's not important." Sam picked at the blanket over his chest. "You were hunting a werewolf. I'm just glad that, you know…" he sighed. "I was just really happy you came back."

"Always gonna come back, Sammy." Dean slid his hand behind his brother's neck and gave a comforting squeeze until Sam met his eyes. "You know that, right?"

Sam nodded but didn't say anything. It was comforting to hear Dean promise that, but Sam was old enough to know his big brother couldn't really make that promise. "Where's Dad?"

"Store." Dean got up and kicked off his own boots. He grabbed the remote off the nightstand and tossed it next to his brother. "Find us somethin' to watch. Your choice."

Sam looked up in surprise and then smirked. He turned on the television and started flipping channels. "What if I pick a chick flick?" He saw Dean's shoulders hunch and chuckled.

Dean rolled his eyes and smiled. "Driver picks the music, Sammy. I'll deal."

Sam grinned and set the remote aside with a grin. "Got it."

Dean grabbed a pillow off their dad's bed and sat down beside his brother, careful not jostle him and looked at the screen. "Dude." He sat back with a smirk. "Hudson Hawk. I love this movie."

Sam smiled to himself. He knew. They watched for a while, with Dean muttering along some of the lines, and Sam looked up as the room door opened and their father came in with a big grocery bag. "Hey, Dad."

"Sammy!" John smiled. It was a relief to see Sam awake and alert. Rather than put the bag on the table, he brought it over and set it beside his youngest. "Good to see up up, kiddo. How are you feelin'?"

Sam shrugged with his good shoulder. "Ok. Sore."

"You get any food?" Dean reached out to open the bag only to have his father slap his hand away. "What? I'm hungry!"

John chuckled. "Yes, I got food. Thought this would be better though." He reached into the bag and pulled out a cake under a clear dome, setting it in Sam's lap. The words 'Happy Birthday!' were scrawled across the top in orange icing. "Happy birthday, tiger." John leaned down while Sam stared in surprise and gave him a careful hug. He leaned back and tapped the dome. "Carrot cake."

"Yech." Dean made a gagging sound.

"Don't worry, ace." John pulled a smaller dome out of the bag and handed Dean a massive chocolate cupcake layered in frosting. He looked back to Sam while Dean made happy noises and smiled at him. "I'm sorry we forgot your birthday, Sam. It was a shit thing to do." He knew damn well his Mary would have kicked his ass for the lapse. The hunt was important, yes, but so was remembering he had two sons; not soldiers.

Sam sniffed and brushed a hand irritably at his eyes. "Thanks, Dad."

John ran a hand back through Sam's hair and then stood. "What are we watching?"

"Hudson Hawk." Dean smiled, sitting back with his cupcake so that his shoulder rested against Sam's good one. "Sammy picked it."

"Good movie." John dragged a chair over from the table and sat on Sam's other side. He plucked the bag off the bed and fished out a plastic fork. "Get some of that cake in ya' and we'll give you some painkillers, alright?"

Sam nodded happily and let Dean pop the dome off for him. He dug the fork in, taking a bite and smiled around the cream cheese frosting. "S'pretty good for a birthday."

Dean chuckled. He ducked his head away when Sam tried to feed him a bite. "Rabbit food cake, Sammy. No way am I eating that."

"But it's good."

"It's carrots." Dean scowled. "In a cake. It's not right."

"This is why I'm gonna get taller than you." Sam looked up at his brother with a smirk. "'Cause I'm not afraid of vegetables."

Dean scoffed and took a big bite of his cupcake, making sure to show Sam the contents of his mouth until his brother groaned. "Keep dreamin', midget."

"Boys." John chuckled and kicked his feet up on the end of Sam's bed. He knew the night could have ended very differently if he hadn't heard Dean's shout for help or he had been a little slower. He let himself and his sons sink into the comfort of a normal, safe evening and smiled.

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The End.

Next Chapter: V is for Vardogr