Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

Summary: John was always a good soldier, but rarely a good dad. Luckily for him, he had Dean to pick up the slack. John reflects back on five instances where Dean proved to be the better parent of the two of them.

Tag to Dead Man's Blood and mentions of After School Special but no actual spoilers.

John checked his watch and let out a weary sigh when he realized his trip down memory lane hadn't killed as much time as he had hoped. All was still quiet on the home front. Where are those damn vamps? They must be gettin' hungry by now…

He did a quick sweep of the room, checking all the doors and windows, then hovered between the two ratty motel beds. At least Sam and Dean had the sense to sleep on the sheets rather than with whatever may be lurking within them. Not that he was surprised. His boys had always been smart.

Though he would never admit it to his youngest, he was proud of Sam for making it into college on a scholarship. Dean could have done the same if he had applied himself and did homework once in a while. But unlike Sam, Dean always put his family first, no matter what.

If John needed help on a hunt or if Sammy needed help with his homework, Dean's grades would suffer for it. And in turn, it was Dean who got the bad rep. Of course, he went along with the bad boy persona; partially because it helped win over the girls, but mostly because it gave him a dangerous vibe that kept the majority of the troublemakers at bay.

Unfortunately, being the new kids on the block typically attracted the bullies like sharks to chum. Dean's natural suave and easygoing personality tended to earn him friends and fans as opposed to foes, but Sammy's above average intelligence and the fact he was always a bit small for his age made him seem like an easy target.

Knowing that a trip to the nurse's office could easily get CPS or the police involved thanks to the numerous scars that would no doubt raise questions, John's sons knew better than to get involved with fights if they could avoid it.

With Dean watching out for his little brother like a hawk, the boys were able to make it through most school systems without a problem. Glancing down at his eldest as he slept, however, John remembered that wasn't always the case.

Since Dean knew how important it was to keep a low profile at all times, John had been surprised when he received a call from the boys' principal claiming that Dean was in a fight.

His son had just turned eighteen and could legally be held accountable for his actions. Because of this, John knew there had to be a good reason for his eldest to have broken protocol so he packed up what he was researching at the local library and sped all the way to the high school to pick his boys up and deal with the fall-out.

He stormed into the principal's office, sending a quick, evaluating glance at his boys who sat side-by-side in the wooden chairs just outside the office's door. Aside from a bleeding cut along Dean's left brow (which he was attempting to stem with a balled up paper towel) and the busted lip he was sporting, they both looked alright, though Dean was sitting rigidly at the very edge of his chair, looking ready to bolt for the nearest exit.

"Don't move," John ordered before entering the small office space and closing the door behind him.

As it turned out, the principal didn't seem to think Dean had been at fault for the tussle. According to a few witnesses, some kid named Brandon threw the first punch and Dean had simply been trying to defend himself. The fact that Dean was quickly outnumbered by Brandon's thug friends helped to sway the pity vote as well…

SPNSPNSPN

John could just barely see the small scar on Dean's left eyebrow in the darkness of the motel room. Apparently Brandon had been wearing a ring of some kind when he dealt that first blow.

John's hand hovered over his boy's brow for a moment as he reflected back on the memory but, not wanting to disrupt the few hours of sleep Dean was managing, John let his hand drop silently back to his side and returned to his seat across the room.

It wasn't the fight that made John suddenly feel sentimental. It was the conversation he had with Dean afterwards that stuck with him through the years. John dropped his gaze to his hands as he allowed his mind to wander once more.

SPNSPNSPN

When John stepped back out of the office, he found his boys sitting in the same position, apparently having taken his previous demand to heart. "You boys alright?" he asked in a low voice, ignoring the busy-body secretary who leaned forward over her desk for fear of missing vital gossip information.

"Yes, sir," his sons responded just as quietly, both of them refusing to make eye contact.

"Good. Let's go then." John led the way to the truck and everyone was silent- aside from the occasional hitched breath from Dean when potholes jarred his sore body- until they reached the motel. "Sam, go inside. Dean, a word."

"Dad, Dean didn't do anything wrong," Sam immediately started to protest. "He was just…"

"Sam! Inside. Now."

Sam shot his brother an apologetic look before hanging his head and scuffing his feet all the way to the motel room's door. John waited until the boy was inside before turning to face his eldest.

Dean stood a few feet away, expecting to be reamed out for his behavior. He was worrying his bottom lip, occasionally running his tongue over the split in the right corner of his mouth. The bruises were already starting to show and looked rather painful.

"C'mere," John ordered as he stepped forward himself, working on closing the distance between them. John reached out and, not missing Dean's flinch, he gently but firmly took hold of his boy's chin and tilted his head slightly to get a better look at his injuries in the bright sunlight.

Using his thumb, he carefully pressed along Dean's left eye socket to make sure no bones were fractured. Dean hissed in pain but didn't pull away. He was clearly going to be hiding a black eye behind shades for a few days at least. "We gotta get some ice on that."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Dean replied quietly but John knew he was lying.

"What really happened, Dean?" he questioned, releasing his son and taking half a step back out of his personal space.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I screwed up. Brandon was being a dick and I challenged him when I knew I shouldn't have."

"Care to explain why?" John needed to see the full picture before he could decide if further punishment would be necessary.

"Because he was goin' after Sam." Dean finally looked up and locked defiant eyes with his father, clearly giving off the impression that his response was more than enough justification for his actions.

John knew he had drilled it into his eldest since he was four years old that it was his job to keep Sammy safe. How could he punish Dean now for doing what he was told? Instead, John nodded in understanding.

"So this punk was gonna start trouble with Sammy and you stepped in?"

"Yes, sir. I heard some rumors in the hallways that Brandon was going after the new kid after school and, since I hadn't managed to piss anyone off yet, I assumed that meant he wanted a piece of Sam for some reason."

"No idea what started it?"

"Not a clue. Probably made him look stupid in class or something. I'll get the story outta Sammy later. But apparently, Brandon caught up with Sam at his locker and dragged him out to the baseball field. It took me a while to find them, and just as I was gettin' there, I saw the asshole shove Sam to the ground."

"So you thought it'd be a good idea to beat the hell out of that Brandon kid and risk the authorities gettin' involved?"

"Of course not, Dad. I know we can't take risks like that. I pulled Sam to his feet and told him to go back inside the school and get help. I'm not gonna lie and say I didn't wanna punch the kid's face in after startin' shit with Sammy, but I followed our rules and let him hit me first."

"Hence the shiner," John deduced and Dean nodded.

"That kid has one hell of a left hook," the middle Winchester admitted with a wince. "I was just gonna take the beatin' until Sam came back with help, but then Brandon's friends showed up and I had to fight back or I'd've been outta commission for the next hunt. I'm sorry."

John patted his son's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong here, Dean. You're allowed to protect yourself and your brother when the situation calls for it. Why don't you head inside and get cleaned up."

"Yes, sir." Dean turned and made a beeline for the motel room, intending to check on Sammy one more time. He found his little brother moving away from the window where he had apparently been spying on their conversation. "Nosy neighbor much?" he teased.

"Everything okay?" Sam countered, ignoring his brother's dig.

"Everything's fine, dude. Let me see your hands."

Sam rolled his eyes before holding them out, palms up. "I'm fine, Dean. I swear. The bleeding stopped a long time ago." Dean inspected his brother's scraped hands carefully. They were cut up a bit from their encounter with the tar but nothing a little Neosporin couldn't fix.

"And your knees?"

"Bruised but I think I'll live."

"You better."

Sam reached up to check Dean's eye like their father had done but Dean jerked away. "It's fine, dude. Why don't you take first shower and get cleaned up."

Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. "What's wrong, Dean?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "Who said anything was wrong? It's my right as big brother to relinquish the first shower if the situation calls for it. You want it or not?"

"Yeah. Yeah, if you're sure."

"Good. Move it then."

Sam scurried around, collecting his things, before disappearing behind the bathroom door. It was a rarity he got the chance to take a hot shower and he wasn't about to pass it up.

The moment the door was blocking his little brother from view, Dean eased himself onto his bed, stomach down and face buried in his pillow.

John watched the boys interact from just inside the doorway and what he saw made his stomach flip. Of the two of them, Dean was clearly the dirtiest and covered in flecks of blood; some of it his, and some that wasn't. Normally, his eldest would have gone straight for the bathroom to wash off the grime and the fact that he didn't raised red flags.

The other major concern was that Dean rarely slept on his stomach because it was a compromising position that was hard to get out of in a rush. That, combined with the earlier image of Dean sitting on the very edge of the chair at school and his muffled groans from the bumpy ride home, alerted John to the pain he had previously overlooked.

He had been so concerned about whether or not the cops were going to come knocking for Dean, that he hadn't gotten around to demanding his eldest give a full injury report beyond the obvious cuts and bruises on his face.

John carefully lowered himself to sit on the side of the mattress by his son's hip, trying his best not to jostle the boy.

Dean stirred, turning his head and blinking up at his father in exhaustion and confusion. "Dad? What…?" He tired to roll onto his side so he didn't look quite so pathetic, but John quickly placed a restraining hand on his son's upper arm.

"It's alright, Dean. Lay still. I just wanna check your back."

Dean's muscles tensed immediately under John's grip and if the patriarch had needed further evidence that his boy was injured, that was it. Of course, that didn't stop Dean from protesting.

"I'm fine, Dad. Just stiff and tired."

"Then you won't mind me checkin', will you." It wasn't a question and Dean knew it. The boy buried his face back into his pillow with a grumble, grudgingly surrendering to his father's will. John moved his hands to Dean's wrists. "I'm gonna slide your over-shirt off, okay? Arms down."

Dean nodded, moving his arms to his sides with his father's help and trying to relax his muscles so he didn't make things worse for himself. John unbuttoned the sleeves, carefully took hold of the collar of Dean's shirt, and eased it from around his son's shoulders. Dean stifled a gasp as the movement pulled at his injuries but didn't attempt to stop his father.

John took that as permission and continued, sliding the navy blue clothing off of Dean's wrists. Dean immediately brought his hands back up to latch onto the corners of his pillow as he prepared for the onslaught of pain.

With the first layer of clothing out of the way, John was able to see Dean's arms for the most part but the rest of his body was concealed beneath a white T-shirt. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be much damage done to his limbs and there were no blood stains caking the shirt to Dean's back so John gave his son's upper arm a gentle squeeze for comfort before moving his hands down to the boy's waist.

Taking hold of the hem of his cotton shirt, he gently pulled it up towards Dean's head and John felt the rage building in him as his son's back was slowly revealed. The boy's skin was lined with deep purple bruises that stretched from one side of his ribs to the other like he had been lashed with something hard.

"Jesus, Dean… What the hell did this?" John pressed along each bruise, checking for broken bones and serious hematomas. Dean grunted at his father's probing, clutching the pillow even tighter and trying to stay still.

"I had the upper hand until Brandon's buddies showed up. Turns out, they were all on the baseball team and had access to the equipment."

"Those little punks beat you with bats?" John was mad enough to see red. He tried to control his breathing so he wouldn't accidentally cause Dean more pain by pushing harder than necessary.

"Yes, sir."

"How many were there?"

"Nine I think."

"Damn it." John finished his prodding and sat back giving Dean a little space to collect himself again. "Are you hurt anywhere else? And don't you dare lie to me, Dean."

"No, sir. Just a few bruises here and there. No broken bones or lacerations, aside from the cut above my eye, but the nurse said it's not very deep."

"I'll get to that next. Relax for a minute." John rose from the bed and went to his duffle, pulling out the first aid kit. Dean's eyes tracked his every movement, trepidation barely concealed in his expression.

"I know you were tryin' to protect your brother, Dean, but Sam should've had your back," John scolded as he sifted through their medical supplies. "You've gotta stop coddlin' him. He can hold his own."

"He shouldn't have to. That's what he's got me for."

"Hate to break it to ya, kid, but you're not invincible. I need to know that when you need backup, you won't be afraid to ask for it." He returned to the bed with a tube of cream designed to take some of the bite out of the bruising and help stop the swelling.

"You know what happens when you get in trouble for fighting at school, Dad? You get expelled. Sammy's a smart kid and he actually enjoys school. I swear it's the only time he's happy these days. But me? I know where my future lies and I don't need a diploma for it. So if some asshole wants a fight, it's gonna be with me. End of story."

Dean jerked inadvertently as his father squirted a fair amount of the cold cream along his heated back. His muscles remained taut as John's thick and rough fingers massaged the salve into his bruised skin. He knew the man was trying to be gentle, but that wasn't exactly part of the military training. He bit back a cry when John's hands pressed on a particularly painful bruise close to his spine.

Sam chose that moment to come back out of the bathroom, steam billowing from the small room in his wake. Dean struggled to try and pull his shirt back down before his brother could see the damage, but a firm hand to the back of his neck stilled his desperate movements.

"Easy, Dean. Sam should know the consequences of picking fights so we can prevent this from happening again."

"Dad, it's not…" Dean tried to protest, struggling against his father's restraining grip.

"C'mere, Sammy," John cut in, clearly ignoring his son's words. Dean blushed profusely as Sam neared the bed in small, shuffling steps. It wasn't like Sam had never seen him without a shirt on before, but Dean knew his brother would never let him hear the end of it for attempting to hide his injuries once he saw them.

"Brandon did that?" Sam asked softly. "You said he only got two good hits in, Dean. Why didn't you tell me?"

Dean felt his brother's small fingers glide over his throbbing flesh. They weren't rough and calloused yet like his father's. Dean hoped for Sammy's sake that they never would be. "Not your fault, Sam," he automatically stated, quick to try and relieve his brother of guilt.

"I was the one who pissed Brandon off, Dean. It should've been my fight, not yours."

"Like I was gonna let that happen," Dean scoffed. "If you had chipped a nail, you'd've thrown a hissy fit, Sam."

"Would not!"

"Boys, that's enough. Sam, go get your brother some ice packs from the freezer."

"Yes, sir," Sam grumbled as he went off in search of bagged vegetables.

John patted his eldest's hip twice to regain his attention. "Sit up for a minute, Dean."

When his boy faltered in the attempt, his arms shaking from the strain, John slid his hand under Dean's chest and guided him backwards into a kneeling position on the bed. "That fight took a lot outta ya, didn't it," John stated with barely hidden concern as his eyes roamed over Dean's chest and abdomen, looking for any additional injuries his boy may have neglected to mention.

"Just need to rest for a little a while and I'll be good as new." Dean forced a weak smile, then grimaced when it pulled on his split lip, making it bleed again. John only hoped they had enough frozen peas to ease his son's pain.

Later that night, John laid awake in his bed, thinking about how wrong the day could have gone. If Dean hadn't been strong enough to conceal the pain he was in around the school authorities, or if he had been taken to the hospital, he could have lost both of his boys to the system. This was a little too close for comfort. It was time to pack up and hit the road again.

Sam shifted on the mattress he was sharing with his brother and propped himself up on an elbow to peer down at Dean's still frame. The sheets were pulled up to Dean's waist but his back was still exposed to the chill air because the pain killers hadn't quite kicked in yet and even the light fabric was enough to make his skin ache.

"Hey, Dean?" Though Sam's voice was barely above a whisper, it still carried enough in the otherwise silent room for John to hear it. Dean grunted noncommittally in response. "You awake?"

"That supposed to be a trick question, Sammy?" Dean mumbled into his pillow, making John smirk though he gave no other sign that he was still awake as well.

"Just checking. Want some more ice for your back?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Those veggie packs burn more than they numb."

"Kay."

"Go to sleep, dude."

Sam allowed the silence to stretch on for a few more minutes before breaking it once again. "Dean?"

His big brother groaned in annoyance, apparently having been on the edge of finally drifting off to sleep. "What, Sam?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean sounded a bit more awake now, but utterly confused.

"I know why you took those guys on for me." John tilted his head slightly to make it easier to hear. Apparently, there were still some details he hadn't been privy to. "It was cause of what I said at Truman High, wasn't it?"

This time Dean drew out the pause, clearly debating on how best to answer. "It might have played a part."

"I would've fought back, Dean. I know I said I didn't wanna be a freak anymore, but you were right. Taking a beating isn't normal either, and it risks exposure. If I had know you were gonna do somethin' stupid, I wouldn't have said anything in the first place."

Dean carefully turned his head so he could see his brother's face in the dim light. "When I saw you hit the ground and you didn't get up… I thought for sure you were just gonna take it and that kid wouldn't've walked away. I wasn't gonna let that happen."

"Even if it meant you took the hits instead?"

"Better me than you, little brother."

"I could've handled Brandon, Dean."

"Yeah, well… tough. Anyone wants to start shit with you, they're gonna have to go through me first. That's just the way it is."

"Does that include evil lunch ladies?"

Dean smirked into his pillow. "You know I've always got your back, regardless of what you're up against. Just focus on your studies and let me handle the rest. Now can I please go to sleep? It's been a long day, dude."

"Yeah. Sorry." Sam slumped back into his pillow with a weary sigh. "I'll shut up now."

Dean bit his lip for a moment, wondering how far he was willing to push this little chick flick, but there was still something that had to be said. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Huh?"

"You're not a freak, man. Not to me."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam snuggled a little closer to his brother, feeling safer and attempting to share his body heat as the air conditioning kicked on. He expected Dean to protest and call him a girl but his actual response brought a smile to his lips.

"G'night, bitch."

"Night, jerk."

TBC

One chapter to go! So sorry for the long wait, everyone. I couldn't get this chapter to cooperate and I'm still not completely sold on it, but I figured I should post something soon. At least I put in some hurt!Dean and made it nice and long though, right? Please review!