November, 1993

Sam's left eye is stinging viciously. So is his lower lip, which is split and swollen, and there's a sore spot on the inside of his cheek where he's bitten it. Still, he manages to shout after Dirk McGregor as the kid saunters away, looking pleased with his handiwork.

"Just you wait. My big brother's gonna rip your lungs out!"

Dirk just gives him a sarcastic little wave and disappears from view.

Sam sighs, and picks himself up off the blacktop behind the school, brushing grit from his clothes. He probably shouldn't have tried to take on Dirk McGregor; the kid is much bigger than him. Then again, nearly everyone is. Sam has endured Dirk calling him "midget" for weeks, but today, Dirk decided to speculate that Sam's father left him because he was so puny. Sam flew at him before he knew what he was doing, and even now, he isn't quite sure what prompted that reaction. It isn't as if Dirk came anywhere close to the truth, after all; John left because he was crazy, and that's the end of it. Sam is actually glad that he's gone.

He just wishes Mary didn't have to be gone, too.

Sam drags his feet the whole way home, knowing he won't be able to hide the evidence of the fight from Cheryl and Tommy, and indeed, when he enters the house, they both exclaim over his injuries. They ask him all kinds of questions about what happened, but Sam just sits there in silence, trying not to cry when Cheryl cleans out his cuts with hydrogen peroxide. Before they moved to Utah, Dean told Sam to let him know if anyone gave him trouble at their new school, and that's what he intends to do, as soon as Dean gets home. Dirk will get his comeuppance tomorrow.

Eventually, Cheryl and Tommy give up asking questions and he retreats to his room with an ice pack for his eye, which by now is swollen completely shut and turning purple. A short while later, the front door opens and closes, and voices float up to Sam's bedroom from downstairs.

"Where's Sam?" he hears Dean ask.

There's the deep rumble of Tommy's reply. Sam can't make out the words, but he hopes Tommy is sending Dean up, because his eye and his lip really hurt and he wants nothing more than to tell Dean everything that happened. Then Dean will hug him—probably just as an excuse to start a tickle war—and Sam will scowl and shove him away, but he'll feel better.

Sure enough, the next thing Sam hears is a series of footsteps hurrying up the stairs, and Dean bursts into his room a second later.

"Sammy?" he says, striding over to the bed where Sam is sitting, and bending to examine his face. "You okay, little brother?"

In answer, Sam takes the ice pack away from his face, setting it in a bowl on his nightstand, and sits quietly while Dean perches on the edge of the bed and looks him over. For a few long moments, the only sound is the faint ringing of the phone downstairs.

"Jesus," says Dean finally. "What the hell happened?"

"Lost a fight," says Sam ruefully.

"I kinda got that," says Dean, his eyes moving over Sam's face again. "Who with?"

Sam takes a deep breath, preparing to tell Dean everything—how Dirk was teasing him, what he said about John, and how Sam was finally provoked into attacking and promptly beaten—but before he can say a word, there's a knock on the door, and Aunt Cheryl pokes her head in.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says. She looks rather upset, Sam notices, but he doesn't care why; he wants her to get lost so he can talk to Dean. "There's a phone call for you downstairs, Dean."

"Tell them to call back," says Dean, barely glancing at her.

"Dean, it's...it's your father."

This gets Dean's attention. "What?"

"He—he said he's calling from a pay phone. Doesn't have much time," says Cheryl. "He asked to speak to you."

"He asked for me?" Dean repeats, staring. He doesn't seem to notice when Sam plucks at his sleeve.

"Dean," says Sam in a low voice, but he gives no sign of having heard.

"Yes, he did," Cheryl replies. "Are you coming, or—?"

"Yeah," says Dean, leaping to his feet, tearing his arm out of Sam's grasp. "Yeah, I'll be right down."

"Dean!" says Sam, more loudly this time. He knows his tone is verging on whiny, but he can't seem to help it.

"Be right back, Sammy!" Dean calls over his shoulder, already halfway down the stairs. Cheryl gives Sam an apologetic look, and follows him out of the room.

Sam flops back onto his bed, feeling tears that have nothing to do with the pain of his injuries burning under his eyelids. He curls up, his back to the door, and presses his hands over his ears so he can't hear Dean's excited voice floating up from downstairs. As if it wasn't enough for John to take Mary away; now he has to take Dean away, too. And of course, Dean has to go along with it without sparing a second thought for Sam. Despite himself, he wonders what John is saying to Dean, and why he didn't ask for both of them. He probably thinks Sam is too little to deal with whatever it is.

He doesn't notice when Dean returns to his room a few minutes later, until a hand on his shoulder makes him start.

"Hey," says Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed again. "Your turn. Dad wants to talk to you now."

Sam makes no move to turn over, but after a moment he asks, "What does he want?"

"Just to check on us," says Dean.

"Make sure no monsters got us, you mean?"

"He just wants to talk, Sam."

Well, Sam wanted to talk, too, but Dean didn't seem to care about that. Sam draws his knees up closer to his chest, and says nothing. Eventually, Dean sighs.

"All right. Then you wanna tell me about this fight of yours?"

Still, Sam says nothing. What's the point, when Dean would rather listen to John than to him?

"Come on, tell me," Dean wheedles. "I gotta know whose lungs I'm ripping out tomorrow, right?"

"Never mind," says Sam, in a flat, hollow voice. "I can handle it myself."

"Sammy—"

"I don't need your help, Dean!" Sam shouts. "Just go away!"

In the ringing silence that follows, Sam holds his breath, half-hoping that Dean will ignore his outburst, pull him around, and demand an explanation. But all that happens is Dean gets up from the bed and leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him without another word.

The cut on Sam's lip stings when a stray tear rolls over it.