AN: I am so excited by the response to this story! It was a totally spontaneous decision to write it because I'm a little stuck on the other story that I've been trying to write.
This chapter has more bad language in it.
Bell1408 – Thank you for the idea! I really really hope you continue to like this. Thank you for pointing out that I forgot to mention Sam's age. I added that detail to the author's notes on the first chapter now.
ToastySoup – Thank you! You actually inspired this story, partly, by writing the story I'm So Sorry, Sammy. I love your writing!
Lena – You know Dean's on the job! Hey, I sent you a (really goofy) email. I hope it makes you smile. Hehe
sfaulkenberry – I'm tempted to answer your questions, but if I do my job as a writer, they'll be answered in the story. (But please lmk if I don't answer them.) Thank you for the encouragement too. You are always so positive.
Blondie20000 – Thanks! I'm so glad you like the action. I do love a badass Sam.
Scealai – After the story is done, lmk if you feel it still needs a sequel. I'm always happy to take ideas and run with them, so I truly will write more if you tell me something doesn't get enough screen time in this story.
Stormy – Thank you! I am so glad that you like it and that it rings true. So much of writing teenchesters is conjecture, so your input is greatly appreciated. Mental health awareness is a cause that is near and dear to my heart, so thank you again.
Jenjoremy – Chick flick moment pending…loading…lol. Good thing Dean is such a good big brother, eh?
Shazza – I'm glad you're reading and liking this. I am more grateful than you know for your faithful comments on my stories.
Atlasina – Thank you!
* * *
Dean sat in the dark disinterestedly sipping at a warm beer. Dad was snoring softly on the twin bed off to the left with Sam sacked out on the queen, undoubtedly sprawled across far more than his half. The brothers really didn't fit well when they had to share, but this place didn't have a couch for Dad, so there wasn't much choice.
It wasn't the thought of fighting off octopus boy all night that was keeping Dean from sleeping though. Nor was it lack of sleepiness. He, like his slumbering family members, had gotten very little sleep in the last few nights, culminated by a fierce battle against some remarkably nasty little curupira. He should be sleeping the sleep of the exhausted like Dad and Sam.
But there was a wrongness nagging at Dean. Ever since Sam had turned 16 – no, since he'd finished the school year – he'd been like a whole different kid. No longer content to stay behind during hunts or even to take the rear, he'd thrown himself into every one. His eagerness and the fact that he no longer argued the merits of individual hunts or lobbied for more research meant that he and Dad hardly fought at all. At first, it had been wonderful. Dad was as close to happy as Dad got, and had started hinting that Sam might not even want to go back to school in the fall. And Sam hadn't argued with that either.
In fact, he seemed to have dropped a whole bunch of his Sam weirdness. He didn't go to the library in their rare downtimes or complain about…well, anything. He didn't show interest in anything but the hunt and things related to the hunt. He cleaned and sharpened weapons when told, ran errands, really whatever got them to the next hunt.
Then Sam threw himself into fights. Dean would have called it reckless, except Sam was good. He was Winchester good, something Dad had never seen coming past Sam being the youngest and the smallest and mostly against hunting entirely. Despite Sam throwing himself into the heart of every fray, he was coming out basically untouched over and over. He'd become a hunting badass before their eyes. So why was Dean so unhappy? So worried?
Dean shifted in his seat, restless but unwilling to wake the others. Sam wasn't Sam any more, and he didn't know what to do about it. This was more than puberty, more than maturity. This was something more, and it made Dean's teeth itch. Something big was going on with his little brother. Dad didn't see it and Sam wouldn't talk about it. And that was something that wasn't okay. Dean took a deep breath and tried to relax his jaw. It ached from him clenching it.
With a sigh, Dean stood silently and moved toward the bed. He had no more answers than he'd had a month ago when all of this had started. But as he slipped off his shoes, an idea came to him. Tomorrow, he'd call Bobby. The man had had another falling out with Dad, but Dean doubted he'd ever dodge Dean's call. He'd listen and have something smart to say and he wouldn't rat to the other Winchesters. And he wouldn't laugh at Dean, because he cared about Sammy too.
Feeling minorly better, Dean shoved Sam over on the bed and climbed under the covers.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean stood in an alley outside the only diner in town that looked promising. He'd volunteered to pick up food in order to get a chance to call his adoptive uncle in peace. Old Sam would have asked to come along, never wanting to be alone with Dad if he could avoid it. But new Sam just didn't care, like he didn't care about much of anything. The sound of the phone ringing ratcheted up Dean's anxiety and he silently cursed himself. Time was, nothing rattled him. Now he was staying up nights like some worried new mother and stressing about a stupid phone call.
"Dean, you alright?" Came a gruff, concerned voice. The very sound of it made Dean's shoulders relax. Shit, he was turning into a girl.
"Yeah, Bobby, I'm fine. You got a sec?"
"Hang on." There was the sound of rustling and a door slamming, then Bobby was back on the line. "What's goin' on?"
Even though he hadn't talked to Bobby in a good six months, Dean could easily hear the compassion under the brusque words, something Bobby didn't extend to very many people. It eased the knot in Dean's chest a smidge more. That didn't make it easier for him to spill his guts though. He wasn't the touchy-feely type, and he was even less likely to talk about Sam to others, even someone as trusted as Bobby. "Um, well, maybe nothing…"
"Don't try to shine me, boy. You wouldn't have called if you weren't worried about somethin'. Is somethin' up with that little brother of yours?"
Of course Bobby knew what Dean would be most likely to call about. Dean chuckled and deflected to buy himself some time. "That little brother is taller than me now. It sucks!"
Bobby chuckled too. "It's about time. You been calling him a shrimp pretty much forever. You're lucky he's nicer than you, or he'd rub your face in it for the rest of your life. Now don't waste my time. What's the problem?"
Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and sighed, but he started talking. "Something's up with Sam," he admitted. "And don't tell me that it's puberty or growing up or some stupid shit like that."
Once Dean started, it was like he couldn't stop. Bobby, who most people would have characterized as impatient and cranky, listened to every word without interrupting once. Even when Dean rambled on or repeated himself, the only words Bobby spoke were to ask a question or two.
"You should have seen him – seen them – on the Chupacabra hunt," Dean was saying. "Sam suggested we all separate and Dad backed him. Then Sam freaking charged right into the middle when we were hardly set." Dean huffed out a breath in remembered irritation and fear.
Sam was moving almost before Dad gave the signal, so he was the first thing the pack saw. Not that Sam looked afraid. Hell, he wasn't afraid of any hunts any more. He was even the one finding the most hunts, and the worse the monster or monsters involved, the more gung-ho he was.
Gung-ho was a great descriptor for how he was attacking now. Dean waded in himself, trying to keep an eye on Sam even as he fought off his own batch of the two-foot-tall rabid crocodile / hog hybrids, trying to avoid the small but extremely sharp teeth. Sam was a whirling dervish of knives spreading inky blood and death, but he wasn't watching his own back.
There were so many of the damn supernatural pests that despite his skill and urgency, Dean couldn't get to his brother. Dad was too far away, too. Then it happened. One of the nasty little creatures latched onto Sam's calf. Sam cried out, but killed it himself. Then he kept fighting with it still attached to his leg, a move that was badass and more than a little crazy.
"I'm fine," Sam waved Dean off dismissively, having taken a quick second to pry the dead jaws off his own leg. "Let's just take care of burning the bodies."
"First let me see," Dean growled, too angry to try to dissect the irritation? disappointment? on Sam's face. "You probably need stitches."
"It's not that bad," Sam argued, casting a look that was far more John Winchester than a 16-year-old should be able to pull off. It surprised Dean so much that he froze, giving Sam a chance to move out of reach. It was an unspoken rule that Dean took care of Sam, who normally only gave token protest and accepted the care as inevitable.
Still caught off guard, Dean broke another unwritten rule and looked to Dad to adjudicate. Dad frowned briefly at the pile of bodies (and there had to be 30 of them), then looked up at Sam. "You okay to help clean this up before we take care of that leg, Sam?"
"Yup." Sam was matter of fact, and Dad accepted his judgment with nothing more than a nod. Then both he and Sam began to drag the Chupacabra onto a pile. It was like neither of them noticed the drastic shift in the family dynamic. Like Dean was suddenly the odd man out. Or he was the only one capable of seeing how strange Sam's actions were.
Dean argued, but opposing two united Winchesters was an exercise in futility. He had a moment of sympathy for Sam for the times Dean and Dad had sided together. Ultimately, he simply helped get the bodies taken care of as quickly as possible, watching Sam for signs of pain or weakness. Back in the motel, Dean didn't bother to ask permission, but shoved Sam onto the first bed and rolled up his pant leg without asking first.
The punctures were deep and had bled heavily, were still bleeding freely, and certainly should have been tended sooner. Dean was furious. But for probably the first time ever, his scolding – yelling, really – had rolled right off Sam's back. "It's not that bad, Dean," he'd said, disinterestedly. He didn't even react much during the stitches, though he'd been quick to take a few sips of the proffered whisky. He'd started to protest the pills Dean pushed on him but had changed his mind with a shrug and swallowed them without question.
Once the meds had pulled Sam under, Dean rounded on Dad. "What the hell, Dad? Did you see those injuries?" Dean was shouting and didn't care. "He could have bled out while we hung around to burn the bodies, and you thought it was a good idea to just take his word for it that he was fine?"
"Dean…"
There was clear warning in John's voice. Dean ignored it. "And since when do we form a triangle around multiple opponents and decide it's a good idea to let Sam run in first like some kamikaze?" Dean wanted to ask if Dad was ready and willing to sacrifice Sam's life to the hunt, but he pulled himself back.
Instead of yelling back, Dad sighed. "Dean, every teenager thinks he's immortal. When you were 14, you suddenly weren't afraid of any monsters and wanted to take point on every hunt. Sam's just realizing he's a damn fine hunter, and I think he's enjoying that. This injury will slow him down for a while, remind him that yes, he can be hurt. He's a smart kid, and he'll get past the idiot phase soon enough. And in the meanwhile, we'll do a better job of watching his back."
Dad was wrong. Dean knew it. Despite his new preoccupation with finding hunt after hunt and throwing himself into them, Sam wasn't enjoying the hunts. He didn't rehash them with Dad and Dean or smile about them. He might be excited, almost manic leading up to a hunt, but he always seemed vaguely disappointed once it was done. And he certainly didn't seem to enjoy any other parts of his life, either. The loquacious kid turned rebellious teen had changed again, into a nearly silent, emotionally veiled almost-man. His shuttered eyes drove Dean nuts.
"It's more than that. He's dangerous to himself right now," argued Dean, but this time he spoke in a respectful tone. He knew Dad's tolerance could only be pushed so far.
Truth was, Dean had no idea how to get Dad to understand. From Dad's viewpoint, Sam was finally accepting who he was as a Winchester, and Dean doubted that anything he said would change that. Still, he'd planted the seed and Dad was no dummy. He'd have his eyes open now. He and Dean would both work extra hard to have Sam's back, and that was the best Dean could do right now.
But of course, the worry wouldn't go away, and soon Dean found himself calling Bobby.
"He didn't even have the stitches out yet when he found a hunt with a crapload poltergeists," Dean told Bobby. "And when we got to the old school building, he was out of the car and headed inside almost before we stopped moving. He shot half of them before Dad and I even got inside. It's like he can't resist the danger. Dad chewed his ass for ignoring the plan, but he also praised his speed and enthusiasm. And Sam didn't seem to care about either the ass-chewing or the praise. You know how he wears everything he's feeling on his face? Well, he has a grand total of two expressions now: killing things and flat emotionless. It's freaky, Bobby."
Dean briefly closed his eyes, finally talked out. He waited in silence for a moment, half expecting his friend and mentor to call him a teenage girl or laugh at him for his paranoia. But Bobby didn't do either of those things. He hummed thoughtfully. Dean's nerves frayed further. "Go ahead, tell my I'm being a paranoid idiot."
"Dean," Bobby said finally, "I don't think you are. Nobody on God's green earth knows Sam better'n you, and that may even include Sam himself. If you think something's wrong, maybe something is. 'Specially since it's been going on this long." Bobby paused again. "You remember the summer your dad and I took down that huge paper wasp nest?"
"Yeah…?" Dean wasn't sure where the other hunter was going with it, but he remembered the nest, bigger than a watermelon, stuck to the perimeter fence at Singer Salvage. It was the summer Sam had turned eight, and he and Dean were relegated inside while Bobby and Dad sprayed the whole thing with insecticide, then knocked down the nest and burned it.
"After we were done, Sam came and asked me why we killed all the wasps. I told him that they would sting anyone who came close and were a danger to all of us, Rumsfeld, and my customers. Then he asked me why they'd sting, so I said it was their nature to sting. And I'll never forget what he said next. He said, so some things get killed because of their nature, even though they can't help it?" Bobby chuckled a little sadly. "Didn't really have a good answer for that one. Point is, kid's always been smart, and a deep thinker. I wouldn't put it past him to have somethin' deep goin' on now too. Keep an eye on him, Dean, since he don't seem to care if he gets hurt."
"Dad says he's a stupid teenager who thinks he's invincible."
"I've seen hunters get like that. They survive enough, they decide nothing can kill them. But I've also seen hunters who don't give a shit about themselves any more." Bobby couldn't hide the worry in his voice. "Thing is, Sam's never been able to keep anything from you, not when you're determined to get it outta him. Don't you give up, boy, no matter how much he ignores you or pisses you off. You get him to tell you, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," responded Dean automatically. He was immensely relieved that Bobby not only believed him, but gave him a viable course of action. "I promise I'll pester him every day until I get it out of him."
"Yeah, stick with your strengths," teased Bobby and Dean actually felt himself smile.
"Where do you think I learned that stubbornness?"
Bobby snorted loudly. "No Winchester ever needed lessons to turn stubborn."
Touche. Dean rubbed the back of his neck again, embarrassed that he'd needed the heart-to-heart. "Hey, Bobby, uh, sorry for the, you know, chick flick thing. And thanks."
"Shut up," said Bobby affably. "Call me when you need me, boy." And he hung up.
Dean went into the diner feeling a lot lighter. He was still worried, but a burden shared is a burden halved* and all that. He'd get food, and then he'd look out for and protect his family, especially his infuriating little brother. Sam wasn't going to get hurt again, and he wasn't going to keep some big, emo secret. Not on Dean's watch.
* This quote is from author T.A. Webb.
