Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or John, Dean, and Sam Winchester. I only own the plot.

A/N: Just to clarify this, Dean is 18 and Sam is 14. I love reading fics of when they're kids, and wanted to write one of my own.


The Middle Man

"SAM! Why can't you just be like your older brother? He follows my orders!" John Winchester yelled at his youngest son.

"Because I'm not Dean. I won't become your perfect little solider Dad! I have my own life to live!" Sam yelled back, angry with his dad.

This argument started when they came home from a hunt, Dean having to save Sam's ass, once again it seemed to John. He was annoyed with Sam at how stubborn he was being, and wanted him to become more like Dean.

Neither of them knew what their arguments were doing to Dean. Dean would always be behind the closed door, listening, and his heart breaking. Dean once thought his family was perfect, that this was all they needed: each other. But his perfect little family was falling apart every day, piece by piece. Ever since Sam was brought on his first hunt, John would think that Dean was the better man, and then bicker at Sam why he wasn't as good. Sam started fighting back, instead of taking it as a perfect little solider, and it had led to this.

Dean would listen until he could take it no more, and he would never admit this, but he would have tears pouring down his face, hearing his father scream at his Sammy, then hearing Sam scream right back at his father. It was a vicious circle for Dean. He didn't know whose side to pick, so he would just pretend he didn't hear them, and would ignore the tension that Sam and his father hid around Dean. They would try to be civil around Dean, for his benefit, but Dean knew.

Tonight was no different, more shouting, more anger, but it had been building for weeks. The last argument that Dean heard was heart wrenching. He couldn't stand it, and had run out of the motel they were in for that night, and went for a walk, to distance himself from their bickering. It seemed to Dean that they were always at each other's throat, leaving him lost in the middle. He wouldn't, no, couldn't choose a side to be on. He loved them both so much that it was impossible to turn his back on the other. He would always be the unknown bystander, not able to push open the door and stop them from fighting. They didn't know that he knew about all their arguments. They tried to keep him out of that loop. Sometimes they would start arguing when they thought he was gone, but he was just upstairs, or in another room. Sometime he would walk into the motel they were in, and hear them at it. He wouldn't walk into the room they were yelling in, but stayed behind the door, frightened of what he was hearing.

Dean tried so hard to be the perfect little solider, to have no fears, but he had one fear that he wouldn't admit to. He was scared of these arguments he kept witnessing. He wanted them to stop so badly, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door. He would just listen, and then leave, so Sam and John would continue to think that Dean didn't know. It was better that they both thought he didn't know about them. If they knew that he knew, then he would be forced to pick a side, and break their family up forever. He would make one victorious, and one heart broken, and most likely pissed at him. So he kept their secret for them. He never let on that he knew, and they continued to pretend that nothing was the matter between them.

Dean was crying quietly five minutes into tonight's argument, for more than one reason. One, he knew this fight would last a while, more than an hour. Two, John was being unfair to Sam by bringing Dean into the argument by telling Sam that Dean was the better man, and he should learn more from him. Be more like him. Three, Sam was playing dirty by bringing up hunts that were unsuccessful for John, where people had died.

This was too much for Dean. He moved away from the door he was listening behind, and walked to the door, silently. He quietly opened the door and walked out, shutting the door behind him as quietly as was possible. He didn't want them to hear him leaving. They thought he was already out.

Dean walked to the road, and then stopped. Which way did he want to walk tonight? Left or right? Dean would always walk down the road until he knew he was alone, and then when he got tired, started back. He remembered that last time he walked to the left, so he turned right. Dean started to walk briskly down the road, tears still falling from his eyes. These were the times where Dean didn't care if he was crying. These were the only times he would cry, since he was a small child. Before the arguments started, the last time Dean remembered crying was when he was eight and was on his first hunt with his dad. The spirit threw him through a wall before his father got to it and killed it. After he was out of the house, his tears dried up and his dad gave him the perfect little solider lecture, where soldiers don't cry, don't have fears, and will get up no matter what happened. Dean learned from then on, and never cried until the arguments.

Dean couldn't take it anymore and started to sprint as fast as he could down the road. He sprinted until he tripped and fell from exhaustion. He couldn't move, and he didn't want to. His heart was split in two, and he didn't know how to fix it. All he wanted was for the fighting to stop, for his father to accept Sam for who he was, and for Sam to accept their life and deal with it. This was the life that Dean knew, the only life he knew. And he was fine with it. He didn't want it to change. Well, he did. The fighting, and he wanted his mother back. He wanted it to be when he was four. No worries in the world, but he had become a man at the tender age of four. But he knew he had become the man he is today because of it, and in a small way, he was grateful.

Rain started to fall from the skies, and Dean pulled his knees up to his chest, and let the rain soak him through. He didn't care about anything anymore. Dean sighed after that thought. He knew it wasn't true, but he wanted it to be true. So he wouldn't be a lesser man for crying every time he heard an argument between his father and his Sammy. So he wouldn't feel like he did tonight every other night they fought. So he could live happily and only care about the next hunt they would move onto. So he could have his Sammy and his father in a room together, happy, without them having to fake being happy around each other. So his heart wouldn't be broken. So everything would be back to normal, whatever normal was.

Dean had wanted everything to go back to normal. But Dean had never known normal, unless normal was training in your backyard since you were five to hunt demons and spirits. To know how to kill demons, and perform exorcisms perfectly at the age of eight. To help his father train Sammy to kill and perform exorcisms by the time Sam was eight as well. Dean had wanted to be normal so bad at times that he had actually looked it up. And had memorised it, so he would know what normal is, and know what he was missing. There were two definitions he knew. The first was a definition of the actual word. Normal: conforming with or constituting a norm or standard or level or type or social norm; not abnormal. The second definition was directed more towards what his Sammy was trying to earn. Normal: being approximately average or within certain limits in ie: intelligence and development; "a perfectly normal child"; "of normal intelligence"; "the most normal person I've met." Dean wanted it as bad as Sammy does, but knew that it would never happen. Knew that there will always be that tension between then two.

Dean's cell phone rang a considerable amount of time later, possibly a few hours after he ran out of the motel room. He looked at the ID, and sighed when it read Sammy. He flipped open his cell phone, and pressed the send button, accepting the call. Sometimes he wondered why getting a cell phone, but it had helped them in a few hunts.

"Hello?" Dean answered.

"Dean? Where are you?" Sammy's voice said over the phone. And if Dean heard him right, he was scared.

"I wanted to take a walk Sammy," Dean answered, but really wanted to say, "I can't stand listening to you two fighting all the time. I had to get out."

"Well, come back, okay? It's well past midnight," Sammy said.

"Yeah, I'll come back soon," Dean said and hung up. Dean sighed and thought what he wouldn't give for Sam and John to stop their fighting. Dean would give anything for them to stop fighting. Grudgingly, Dean stood up and started walking back to their motel in the rain. He hadn't noticed the rain earlier, but was started to feel the cold from it. Dean quickened his pace to get back to the motel. Not to see his brother, or his father, but to get warm again. A nice long hot shower, and then bed.

Dean knew what he would witness when he walked back in. Either just his father, or just Sam waiting for him to come home, or both of them up, with neither of them speaking. That is until Dean walks in, then smiles will come across their faces, and they will pretend that Dean doesn't know, and that it will be their little secret. In a way, it is their little secret, but an even bigger secret for Dean, because he has to hide his broken heart, and pretend like he doesn't know.

But Dean knows only too well.


A/N: I originally planned this to become a oneshot, but I also planned on having more than just one fight in here. I may add more chapters to this, and I may not. Tell me what you think in a review and if I should continue this story line.

I got my idea from watching a scene where Dean sees them fighting. John is gripping Sam by his coat close to his face, Dean then steps in and breaks thetwo apart, and getting back in each othe their own cars, leaving Dean standing there confussed, but looking sad. And I wondered what Dean would be like in his childhood, and this came to mind. I just had to write it. Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this.

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