Thank you all for the wonderful response you had to the last chapter! Thank you especially to Aussie, the prompter, for letting me know that you enjoyed it. This next prompt was from Jaden Grace 1, who asked for: "Teen!chester story in which Sam is hurt in a hunt but doesn't say anything so as not to disappoint his father. This costs him on the next hunt when he is hurt once again protecting Dean, John, or both." I wasn't sure how happy I was with this but for some reason I really struggled to write it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

(P.S – I do realize that these have been two fairly similar stories one after another but I'm doing the prompts chronologically, and the next one is set in season six so have no fear!)

I was supposed to do great things,

I know the road was long.

I was embraced to shoot for fame,

I had the safety on.

- Miracle Mile, Cold War Kids

"Okay, now remember, these things can be tricky sons of bitches, so we stick together." John addressed his sons in a firm voice, looking pointedly at Sam as his did so to which the young teenager resisted rolling his eyes to avoid the lecture that would follow about respect.

The three Winchesters were stood outside of the Impala on a dark and deserted forest road in the middle of the night, waiting to begin their hunt for the wendigo that had been kidnapping hikers and campers of a small tourist town in North Carolina. Sam had been coming along on hunts for the past two years now, since his thirteenth birthday, but after getting separated from his father and brother on the last hunt they went on he was under strict orders to remain by Dean's side at all times.

John turned to face the forested landscape behind them, appraising it, before nodding to his sons to follow his lead as they began to trek through the trees.

John led a few feet ahead with the two boys following together, when Sam tripped over something and realised one of his shoelaces was untied.

"I'll catch up," he said to Dean, ushering his brother ahead, and soon he was a few feet behind him. Standing up after tying the lace, Sam prepared to run to catch up when he had a crashing sound coming from behind him, hearing the smack of flesh on flesh before he felt himself being tackled to the ground by the wendigo they were hunting. His senses soon returned at full capacity, though, in time for him to feel his right side being forced into a rocky surface and the searing pain that followed.

"SAMMY!"

Sam heard the yell come from a few feet away from him and it was followed by what sounded like an entire clip being burned into the wendigo, scaring it enough to release Sam and take off in the direction of the opening to the underground tunnels. Before Sam even had time to contemplate getting himself up Dean's face appeared above him with concern etched into his features.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked as he extended a hand, helping Sam up and keeping a hold on one of his shoulders as he examined his little brother for any visible signs of injury.

Sam shook Dean's supportive hand off, trying not to stumble as he did so, and brushed the dirt off of his shirt.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, subtly running a gentle hand over his side and trying not to flinch as he put pressure on where he knew he was going to have a killer bruise in a couple hours.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam's statement but didn't question it, knowing that if Sam was smart enough to tell him if he'd been badly hurt.

Just as the two were about to continue on again John came bursting into the clearing, looking more than a little pissed off.

"What did I say about sticking together?" he demanded, marching over to where Sam and Dean were stood.

"It jumped Sam," Dean said, not giving Sam time to make whatever comment or remark he was about to in response to John's tone.

John took in what his son had just said and his eyes widened, immediately darting to Sam and doing what Sam knew was a once-over to check for injury just as Dean had done.

"I'm fine, Dad," Sam said quietly, looking up at his father who had moved closer to him and had placed a hand on his shoulder.

John nodded in response, a brief smile crossing his face before he slipped back into hunter mode. "Alright. Well, now that it knows we're here we're not going to be able to do anything tonight, so we'll go back to the motel and come out again tomorrow."

The three than walked back through the forest to the Impala, and Sam took advantage of the silence to mentally check over himself, trying to figure out where the pain that was pulsing through his body was coming from. It seemed a lot to just be coming from a bruised side – didn't it? He must've hit somewhere else against the rocky ground and not noticed, he'd have to check when he showered that night. However, the wave of fatigue that crashed over him halfway through the drive meant that the shower would have to keep until morning, and he went straight to bed along with the other two members of his family.

...

The next morning Sam woke up to Dean leaving to get breakfast and his father just beginning to pull out the guns to clean them. The man's eyes went to his son when Sam sat up, and he nodded to him.

"Go ahead and take a shower, then you can come help me do this."

As soon as Sam turned his body to get out of bed, though, he was assaulted by a wave of pain so intense it took every piece of restraint he had in him not to cry out. Standing very gradually, although not slowly enough to draw notice, Sam padded gently over to his bag on top of the dresser where he pulled out a clean set of clothes, and then took them with him into the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind him, Sam let out a gasping breath, his eyes wide in anguish. Standing up straight, he lifted his shirt over his head, wincing as he felt the muscles in his side pull at the movement, and turned to look at his the right side of his back in the mirror.

The skin covering almost half of his back was black and blue, extensive bruising making it look like he had lay down in a half-full tray of paint for the large area it stained. Sam closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. For the amount of pain he was feeling he'd guess his right kidney had been bruised too.

"Shit," he breathed, thinking about what he should do. He wasn't stupid – Sam knew that serious bruising could be a sign of internal bleeding and should be looked at, least of all massaged to break the blood up under the skin. Sighing, Sam decided to take his shower and see if the warm water would help his aching back and muscles, and go from there.

After his shower which, unfortunately, had done little in the way of soothing the pain, Sam stepped out of the bathroom and took a deep breath, walking over to his father.

"Dad," he began, but John interrupted him before he went any further.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo," the older man said, not looking up from the shotgun barrel he was cleaning but Sam could hear the rarely vocalised affection in his voice. Sam blinked at his father in response, and before he spoke again John looked up at his youngest son, smiling at the wide-eyed look on his face.

"I know I don't say it a whole lot, and that more often than not I'm telling you not to do something, but after all of the work you've done on this hunt, the research and coming out last night…I'm damn proud of you, Sam."

Sam just stared at his father for a minute, before John cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the gun in his hands.

"Think I interrupted you when you came in, kiddo. Did you want to say something?"

There was only a millisecond of hesitation in Sam's mind before he shook his head and sat down, not wanting the surprisingly vocal praise his father had given to him the turn into disappointment at his inability to defend himself and keep from getting hurt.

Besides, Sam thought to himself as he picked up a rag and took the gun his father held out for him, bruises heal. I'll be fine, after we get back from the hunt tonight I'll take something, and by tomorrow I'll be okay.

...

Later that night the three Winchesters were once again walking quietly along the forest path, each holding a flare gun with John leading and Dean behind Sam. When they reached a clearing in the trees, John stopped and looked around.

"This area is too big," he said, frowning. Appraising both of his sons, he sighed. "We're going to have to split up. Dean, you and Sam-"

However, the end of John's order was cut off by the sound of the wendigo crashing through the forested area to break into the clearing just behind Dean. It stretched a claw out and pushed Dean with such force that he landed on the ground on the other end of the grassed area, and when he didn't get up John felt the anger building up inside of him while Sam ran over to his brother.

Lifting his flare gun John aimed it as quickly as he could at the monster, but before he could get the shot off the weapon was knocked out of his hands as it pushed passed him on its way over to where Dean was.

John watched as it got closer to his eldest son, running behind it but knowing he wouldn't catch up in time, when just as he saw claws raised above Dean he heard a yell come from his youngest as Sam threw himself in their path. The teenage collapsed, unmoving on the ground beside his brother, but before John could re-aim the weapon he had reclaimed from the ground there was a high-pitched shriek being emitted from the other end of the clearing where the wendigo was burning. After it fell to the ground, charred and dead, he saw Dean standing with a cold look on his face and a smoking flare gun. His son met his gaze, but before he could do anything more than nod Dean's attention was diverted to the boy on the ground. John walked over quickly, and was soon kneeling beside the two boys as Dean helped a hazy Sam sit up.

"You boys okay?" John asked, looking both over for visible injury and wincing slightly as the blood coming through Sam's shirt. Dean unbuttoned the top few holes of the button-down Sam was wearing, smiling sympathetically at him.

"That's gonna be stitches, dude, sucks to be you," he said half-jokingly.

"Saved your ass," Sam mumbled, to which Dean shook his head in response.

"Not your job, Sam, it was a stupid thing to do."

"Okay, let's get this back to the motel," John interjected before the boys launched into yet another 'two-way vs. one-way street' argument on watching out for each other. He focused on his youngest for a moment. "Sammy, you good to move?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he answered, although as soon as the word had passed over his lips blood followed within the next second.

"What the hell," John exclaimed as he dropped to his knees, both he and Dean moving forward to keep a fading Sam from falling back. Seeing that his son had a hold on his youngest he removed his hand from Sam's shoulder and pulled a flashlight out of his jacket pocket. At Dean's questioning gaze, John prompted the boy to help him lift up Sam's shirts on his back. Shining the flashlight at the bottom, the hardened hunter did a double-take and couldn't help but wince at the severe and extensive bruising coloring the skin on the right side of Sam's back, wrapping around to the middle of his ribs on his front.

"Damn," John whispered, piecing together Sam's slow movements that day with the scenario in front of him. "This must've happened last night. Why the hell wouldn't he say he was hurt?"

"Because it' Sam," Dean said softly but with a sense of urgency in his tone. "Dad, we've gotta get him to a hospital. Like, now."

The two of them each took one of Sam's arms and wrapped it over their shoulders, easily managing the weight of the small fifteen year-old between them on the short trip to the Impala. After settling Sam in the back seat Dean climbed in next to him, bringing his semi-conscious brother's head back against his shoulder and keeping one hand on the boy's wrist so that he could keep a watch on his pulse.

"You stupid kid," Dean murmured, running his free hand through his little brother's shaggy hair, "what part of I'm your big brother and I look out for you don't you get? Next time you get hurt, if you don't let me know the second after it happens I'm going to kick your ass so hard you'll forget about the first problem." Looking briefly out of the window as his dad made the drive to the emergency room, Dean then turned back to Sam and bent his head so that his mouth was by Sam's ear.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," he whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't notice. I promise, this won't happen again."

...

TEN YEARS LATER

"Ouch," Sam breathed, surveying the bruises across his shoulder blades. Being thrown into a headstone by an angry spirit never ended well for anyone.

"Sam, you good?" Dean called from the other side of the closed bathroom door.

"Uh, yeah, I'm good," Sam responded, lying through gritted teeth as he tried to massage the blossoming bruise gently to break it up and prevent imminently worse pain later. Finally giving up with the realisation that his arms just did not bend that way, Sam pulled his shirt back on and opened the bathroom door only to be met by Dean holding a box of ibuprofen and a snap to activate heat pack. The items were deposited in Sam's hands before Dean went into the bathroom himself and closed the door behind him.

"You better be laying flat on your back when I get out," he warned through the door, "and if that heat pack isn't under your shoulders I'm not listening to you bitch about the pain tomorrow."

Sam couldn't help but grin at his brother's threatening tone. When he had been fifteen Dean had told him he'd always know when he got hurt – sure enough, his big brother had made good on his promise and because of it, Sam felt safe in knowing that someone would always be watching out for him.