Sam knew he was suppose to be silent, he knew the consequences if he wasn't. His dad's brow was furrowed with sweat literally dripping down. Sam knew that it was a hot summer day, hell he sweated too, but it was as though there was another reason of John's incredible amount of sweat.

Sweating like the pig he his, Sam thought. He wrinkled his nose. John spoke up in a gruff voice.

"It just doesn't make any damn sense," he said, scanning the page another time. "Sam, here. Dean says you're good at shit like this," John said to his nearly fifteen year old son. Sam stood up, hiding his wince from his bashed knees, and took the book that John was holding out for him. As he read it and John eyed him angrily, Dean came in.

"Hey Sammy, doing research?" Dean asked when he saw Sam bent over a filthy book. Sam nodded.

"Hey dad," Dean said before putting a stack of twenty dollar bills on the table. John grinned largely.

"Good job son!" He praised. "Do you want to go out and get some lunch for us?" He asked.

"Sure," Dean answered, pleased with his work. He grabbed a few bills before leaning towards his brother.

"Is it hard?" He asked Sam, indicating to the research.

"I'll manage," Sam said, not wanting to complain.

"Dad, why aren't you helping Sam?" Dean couldn't help but ask.

Because he's a stupid fuck, Sam thought.

"These weapons aren't going to clean themselves," John answered. Dean was about to argue that research was more important at the moment, but held his tongue. His father knew best, he always did. Sure, he could be a little hard sometimes, but it was always for the best.

"Okay," Dean answered, pulling his shirt a little out to get some air under it. It was too hot for his, everyone's, liking.

Please don't leave, Sam thought and peered up with pleading eyes. Dean didn't notice them though and left.

"Hurry Sam," John grunted when he was sure Dean was far from earshot. Sam stared at the page, but it was incomprehensible and nearly illegible. It was as though it was written in a completely different language. Sam peered up at John who glared threateningly back. Sam couldn't wait til Dean came back as the tension of the room was sky high.

Thirteen days after

Jessica was feebly drinking a glass of water with shaky hands. Her, and everybody else's, eyes were staring down at the too pale Sam. His shirt was off and the wound was worse than they had hoped. It had started out as a pinch but got deeper and deeper to the point of needing stitches. Jessica turned pale at the sight. Sam's face was scrunched up in pain and again, was unaware of his surroundings. Everything was blurry and hurt. He heard, or at least thought he heard, Dean's soothing voice beside him.

"Okay Sammy, this may hurt a little but I want you to stay strong, like you always are. Strong."

No, that can't be Dean's voice. I'm not strong, Sam thought.

He felt a hand caress his hair before a searing pain on his stomach as the wound was being rinsed. He wanted to scream as the pain was so unexpected to him.

Jessica didn't know what she should say, if she even should say something. She didn't and continued staring for some reason. She didn't want to stare, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to go home. She wanted to hug Sam and tell him that it was going to be alright, like Dean was doing at that moment. Jessica could tell that they were close.

Jessica whimpered when Dean put more pressure of the wound and Sam winced loudly. That's when Bobby turned to her.

"Are you sure you want to see this?" He asked gravely but with care. Jessica stood stump for a second before she heard sirens wailing and red and blue lights flashing into the living room through the window.

"Thank god," Dean said but didn't move. He stroked his brother's messy hair again. He looked, was, so young. How did it come to this? Bobby had already gone outside. Paramedics came inside while the cops dealt with John. Jessica didn't know what to do as the paramedics leaned over Sam to check how he was.

They heard a car drive away with what they assumed was a beaten up bastard.

Fifteen days after

Dean had given his number to Jess so that she could call if she wanted to. She had accepted it gratefully, and thought that it was time to use it now. She went downstairs and picked up the phone. Her mother was watching her from the living room and Jessica couldn't blame her, she had only come home yesterday and they were all still shaken up.

Dean's phone rang thrice.

"Hello?" He asked, walking from Sam's room and into the hospital hallway.

"Hi, it's Jess. Is Sam alright?" She asked, skipping the dull "how are you" where she already knew the reply. Dean was worried sick, but would probably lie about it. Dean was happy she didn't ask it as he didn't want to lie or pour his feelings out over a damn phone.

"He's better. He's resting at the moment," Dean answered softly. Jessica fiddled with the phone cord.

"Okay, good. Could you tell him I called?" Jessica asked timidly. Dean smiled.

"Sure," he answered and it felt like a weight was lifted of Jessica's shoulders.

SPN-SPN-SPN

Sam couldn't help but groan. He opened an eye halfway, just enough to see Dean. He was still tired. He knew that he was on painkillers and Dean didn't like one bit of it. He sat nervously beside his bed with Sam's hand in his.

"You're awake?" Dean asked superfluously. Sam looked at him.

"No." Dean ignored his cocky answer.

"Jessica called," Dean said. "Are you up to talk to her?"

Any other time than now, Sam thought.

"Later?" Sam slurred. Dean nodded.

"Whenever you want," Dean said. He had so many questions to ask Sam, but didn't know how or when to ask them.

Bobby came into the room.

"Dean, can we talk?" He asked.

"Sam has just woken up-" Dean started.

"Go," Sam said, closing his eyes once more. Dean stood up in defeat.

The hall looked too sterile, the entire hospital was, for Dean's taste. He knew that it was suppose to be clean but here he was afraid of walking on the floor as he might make them dirty. He hated hospitals. The only thing that made him happy was Bobby smile and him asking if they wanted to live with him permanently. Dean accepted gratefully as he hadn't thought about what on earth they would do when Sam got better. He returned the smile. For once, it seemed like things were going to work out. He looked back at Sam's room and his heart sank. Maybe not everything. He couldn't even begin to fathom how Sam felt right now, how he could have sustained so much shit and not talk about it properly. How his own father had done it. How he had attempted to take his own life. He started to feel nauseous and blocked the thought of him finding a limp Sam with an empty pill bottle. He walked back into the room with Bobby following him.

Two weeks after

"I understand that you want to leave, and things seem alright, so you can go tomorrow but not before. I'll get the papers," the nurse informed the room and left.

"Did you hear that Sammy, we can go soon," Dean said calmly to a waking Sam. Sam mumbled something and opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, but was pushed back down gingerly.

"Don't do any too strenuous, we don't want to risk you pulling your stitches out," Bobby said, entering the room with a couple of coffees for him and Dean.

Dean smiled and looked at Sam.

Questions were itching the roof of Dean's mouth, but he kept silent.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! :D Happy New Year! 2015! Now, where are the highly anticipated hovercrafts?